Returning Home
by SpellboundWriter
Summary: Complete!Sequel! Marcy Drummond, daughter of Ginny Weasley, is growing up in a world that she doesnt belong in. Will her mother ever have the courage to face the past she ran away from 9 years ago, and the love she left behind? GWDM!
1. Manchester's Freak

AN: Please read the prequel…A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes before reading this novella.  It takes place 9 years in the future from chapter 8, so hopefully it won't confuse anyone too much. Full Summary at the end!

Marcy Narcissa Drummond sat quietly in the back row of her classroom, tapping irritably on her desk top with her number two pencil.  It always made such a funny sound when it hit her desk, thumping along in little pitter patters as her teacher made his way through role call.  Marcy had always detested role call, since it was only on rare occasion that her teachers could fluently speak her name or even attempt her middle.  Most of the students in her class found it weird that her middle name was so foreign, since the typical students in Manchester had simpleton names like Jane or Emily.  Her teacher, Mr. Hinkle, was staring at her rudely as she continued to tap her number two pencil on her desk top, humming along nonchalantly to a tune in her head.

            It wasn't until just a few years prior that Marcy Narcissa Drummond had even existed in the small town of Manchester.  She had moved in with her mother and younger brother Julian during the end of the summer, staying in a small house on the outskirts of the Highland developing community.  No one knew where she had come from, not that it particularly mattered to her, for she didn't make friends easily and didn't intend too.  She would never be like her brother.

            Marcy considered herself a loner at all means.  For starters, she looked nothing like the rest of her family, who sprouted unruly auburn colored hair that rivaled the Lincoln covered faces of American pennies.  Both her mother and brother had eyes of deep rich cocoa and tiny frames, lingering inches underneath everyone else.  But Marcy was different, with piercing cobalt blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair that was long and pin straight.  She was slightly bigger boned than her mother and at the wee age of 10 and ¾ she only stood a couple centimeters shorter.  At school, she rivaled boys in basketball games and was equally as tough as the roughest football player, daring anyone to come up against her.  She was witty and smart, excelling in all of her studies and also having the quickest tongue when it came to verbal disputes and sarcasm.  But unlike her brother, Marcy wasn't popular and instead spent the normally frivolous lunch hours in the library reading up on her favorite courses.

            The teachers at Caldwell Elementary had many a times suggested to Marcy's mother that she be excelled into a higher grade, that keeping her in such a place was only hindering her learning ability, but her mother kept her in her place and insisted she spend "humdrum" times doing something constructive.  So Marcy continued to create riffs on her pencil, regardless of Mr. Hinkle's annoyed tone.

            The bell rang and she jumped out of her seat, grabbing her bag off of the floor and barging to the door, grabbing the worksheet that had been assigned for homework off of the desk and shoving it into her pocket.  Two of the boys in her class, Oliver Puddley and Hank Thomas, were following her precariously through the halls as she stomped out into the sunshine, basking in the wonderful glow of the summer.  When she turned around the two boys were next to her, each smirking equally as large at her and pointing fingers at her blouse, which had a small stain of grape jelly from lunch spread on it.

            "Look at that, the _freak _can't even keep herself clean!" Oliver chanted, laughing gallantly.

            "You shut your mouth Oliver!" She tossed back, turning on her heel to march towards Highland developing.  However, the boy didn't let her go, and instead twisted her arm back until she was facing him again, his amber colored eyes digging into her.

            "Don't you tell me to shut up you ugly little ingrate." He spat, lowering his gaze to her blouse again, tugging on the rumpled fabric, "At least I don't wear cheap clothes or grow up in a cardboard box." The other boy began to laugh mercifully, pointing his finger at Marcy and taunting her.  She felt tears welling up behind her eyes and she coaxed them down, unable to allow Oliver Puddley best her at a battle of words, "Why is your mother so poor Narc?  Is her job at the hospital not good enough to get you anything proper?" He prodded, laughing at her again.  She simply glared at him and went to turn again, but his chubby fingers were still wrapped around her wrist.

            "Let go." She demanded, gripping his fingers in her own and pulling at them.  He looked appalled as he pulled away, grabbing his own hand wildly.

 "Don't touch me _freak."_

"I am not a freak." She bit back fiercely, the anger ebbing at her will power.  She could feel it in her fingertips and her toes and the back of her eyelids, the image of Oliver Puddley lying on the ground covered in dirt and her fists pounding into his flesh becoming more and more appealing, "Don't insult my family again Oliver." She spat, moving away from him, however he had grabbed her bag and ripped it open, clutching a picture from the bottom of it.  He was laughing at whatever was in the picture and saying something to her that made even Hank gasp loudly, but she didn't hear him, for her fists were bunching so quickly and flying through the air that she hadn't had a chance to process his reaction.

            Marcy hit the ground with a loud thump as she fell on top of Oliver Puddley and began to throw her hands into his face, only getting angrier as he sputtered beneath her and started yelling at her to stop.  It wasn't until two hands had pulled her off of the boy did she notice that his lip was cut badly and he was breathing heavily, the picture he had taken no where in sight.

            "What do you think you're doing?" A boy yelled, who loomed just a few inches shorter than her.  He was wearing a very handsome button down and jeans, his fingers clenched at his sides and his group of friends, which were surrounding him, all had the same plastered look of shock on their faces.  His curly hair was swept back in the wind and his cocoa eyes were examining Marcy with extreme annoyance as he lifted Oliver to his feet, brushing the boy off, "Get out of here Oliver before I find a reason for my sister hacking off at you."

            As Oliver took off and Marcy found her rumpled picture on the ground, she choked out a few words to Julian, "I could have handled it myself you know."

            "Sure sis, next time I'll let you handle it and allow mum to get even more angry at you knowing you came home fighting."

            "He was being a right prat." She exclaimed as they moved towards the sidewalk, shuffling along as Julian's friends waved him goodbye, "Not only did he insult me, he stole my picture!" She complained as she shoved the picture into her pocket for safe keeping, "He had it coming to him."

            "You shouldn't be fighting." Julian pressed as they reached the Highland developing community and found there house.  It wasn't large like most of the houses in Manchester; it was missing the typical illustrious veranda and brilliant serpentine shutters.  It was brick and tiny with red splotches of paint all around and a poorly cut lawn, but it was home and it was nice for the amount of money they had paid for it.  Julian ran through the gate and into the house as Marcy walked slower, taking her time to reach the door.  She should have been used to the teasing about her mother's job at the hospital and lack of money in her family, and yet it still riled her temper to no end and had her jumping on top of boys and throwing her fists at them wildly.  Sometimes she wondered how far in fights she could get if Julian wasn't always there to pick up the pieces.  It was odd really, since Julian was almost 2 years younger than her and yet more of a diplomat than she could ever be.  Growing up in the way they had surely had made him mature fast.

            She fell down in the pearly long grass of her front yard and removed the rumpled picture from her pocket, straightening it out against her knee.  She carried it with her everywhere, no matter if she was going to a dentist appointment or to school or even to bed.  It was slowly fading and the image was scarce but she could see about 13 people surrounded in the picture, all laughing and hugging outside of the Eiffel Tower.  She hardly recognized anyone at all, most were older individuals, almost all save five having that wonderful colored hair that her mum and Julian had.  One of the other individuals had black hair darker than midnight and his arms were around a fair skinned woman with a beautiful smile.  Another girl had long brown hair that was blowing in the wind and sputtering into the mouth of an unknown man and the woman Marcy assumed to be her mum, but much younger.  Her mum was smiling happily with her arms wrapped around her stomach.  Her very _large _stomach.  Standing next to her mum was Marcy, only a younger version, and she was holding the hand of a man whose face had darkened out of the picture from Marcy's growing fingers running over it continuously.  It had faded from memory when she had taken the picture from her mum's room and she could no longer remember what the man looked like.  But she could remember his smile, which was gloomier than any of the others but still genuine as he looked down at her.  Feeling a tear roll down her face Marcy slipped the picture back into her pocket and walked inside, ready to listen to her mother's list of chores for the day.  A talk about the fight would never occur, for Julian never told his mother of Marcy's escapades at school.  If it didn't happen inside their gate he had always kept quiet about it, whether it was because he felt a true bond for his sister or because he was afraid he would be the next one lying on the ground as she reined fury upon him.  Whatever the case, he kept his mouth shut as she entered the house and began taking down things to do.

~

            Marcy sighed as she entered the cooling bath water, soaking up the bubbles that smelled like vanilla and coaxed at the bottom of her nose.  She had always loved bubble baths as a child and now, with her own bathroom (which wasn't any bigger than a closet, but it worked regardless) she could take them whenever she pleased as long as she used a reasonable amount of water.  Just as she reached for her copy of _Little Women _on the floor there was a knock at the door and her mother was entering, carrying a fresh collection of navy blue bath towels.

            "Hello darling, enjoying your bath?" Her mum asked, placing her things on the sink.

            "Yes its very nice." She replied, sinking lower within the bubbles so that only her chin and face poked up out of the suds.  Her mum's face was crinkling up from the fragrance and she was fanning herself with one hand from the steam.  Marcy laughed perceptibly and blew a bubble at her mum, watching it float towards her and the woman began to back against the wall.  Giggling, she dove under the water as her mum retaliated with a handful of cold water from the sink, starting an awfully girly battle between the two.  Marcy, though a loner, had always been able to joke with her mother.  It was as if they had a very silly bond between them that they showed only when they weren't bickering or ignoring each other.  It was nice to see her mum laugh for a change, which hadn't happened much as long as she could remember.  Another knock on the door stopped their fun as her mum opened it, revealing a man that made Marcy gurgle back a groan and pout into the bubbles.

            The man was nothing short of amazing; for he was exactly that…short with a slightly balding head and peach fuzz blonde hair.  His eyes were dark and he was pudgy, too pudgy in Marcy's mind, and he had a high pitched laugh that made her scowl.  Her mum had been seeing him for quite some time now, or at least that's what Marcy imagined since he was always over and when he wasn't she was on the phone with him.  Supposedly, they worked together and he had a fair bit of money judging by the condition of his business suits and quite ugly bowler hats, but that didn't change Marcy's opinion of him.  Neville Lovegood, as she knew him, was nothing close to glamorous.

            "Virginia dear are you ready?" Neville asked cautiously, extending an arm to her mum.  She detested the way her mother's name, Virginia, rolled off his tongue, since most people called her by her nickname Ginny.  It sounded much more like her mother, since she was still a young woman that wasn't married.  Virginia just sounded too formal, even as her mother was stepping into the hall, waving goodbye, and clicking the door closed.

            "What's going on Neville?  You know you aren't supposed to just barge into my daughter's bathroom like that." Ginny spoke softly, biting her lower lip.  Neville showed up every few days to check on her, which she appreciated dearly, but she could see the look on her daughter's face that she used to remember in her family's eyes whenever she brought a new boy home.  Marcy didn't seem to fancy him much.

            "I know Ginny, but you told me to alert you the minute I received it." He replied, pushing a letter forward.  Ginny gasped as she held the faded tartan envelope in her hands, the familiar sectioned crest glimmering up at her from the seal, while the other side branded her daughter's name in large loopy letters.  She should have expected it, with Marcy's eleventh birthday only days away, but it was still a shock as she held the memory in her hands, her body shaking just slightly.

            "I…" She started, sinking against Neville.  It wasn't uncommon for her to find solace in Neville, his frequent visits usually caught her after a long day at the hospital or a row with Marcy, and her nerves were usually scattered about.  He held her softly and rubbed her back gingerly with his fingers, attempting to quiet her.  He was whispering in her ear and she bit back a laugh as she swatted him for something he said, placing her hands on her hips, "Neville Longbottom when was it that you became such wonderful help?" She asked honestly, placing the envelope back in his hands.

            "When I changed my name so you wouldn't be found, gave you my grandmother's maiden name to use for your daughter, and helped you make something of yourself in Manchester." He said monotonously, as if he knew the speech far to well but then his tone sobered as he spoke again, "Ginny, you can't keep hiding this from Marcy.  You can't keep hiding yourself from the rest of the world.  You know far to well I imagine, that the letters will just keep coming.  Marcy is ready for this you know." He replied, placing his hand comfortably against her shoulder.

            "She's had a quiet life Neville." Ginny started, looking at him, "She hasn't had to deal with any of the problems of our world.  She has enough things to deal with here and I can't imagine just turning her world upside down because of some ruddy letter."

            "She has a right to know who she is…" Neville started, shaking his head, "Where she came from…what her family is like…who her family is…"

            "She has a family here in Manchester." Ginny bit back, her eyes clouding with anger, "Julian and I are the only family she's ever known, and quite frankly I wouldn't have a problem if she only ever knew of us."

            "That isn't fair Ginny and you know it." Neville yelled a little too loudly, the door to the bathroom vibrating just slightly, causing him to lower his voice to avoid the chance of Marcy overhearing him, "Even if you don't want her to ever meet your parents, or your brothers, or even Hermione, she still has the right to know about D…"

            "Don't you even say that man's name." Ginny screamed, backing Neville towards the stairs, "Marcy doesn't need the heartbreak in her life I've felt for the past nine years.  Take the letter back to the Ministry Neville.  Tell them not to send anymore with you or I'll be sure to disappear.  I value your help…but my children and I are no longer a part of your world and I refuse to let them know of its existence."  She snapped, pushing him to the first step.  He obliged and apparated into the air, leaving Ginny standing alone, her fingers clamped tightly together.  She turned to her bedroom and sunk into its graying walls, her eyes catching sight of a dusty photo album in the corner.  Letting a tear fall from her face she peeled out of her clothes and fell into bed, wrapping her fingers around her pillow and the loneliness of her bed frame.

            She heard Marcy move from the bathroom to her bedroom as a door clicked closed and a light in the hallway faded to darkness.  Ginny sniffed lightly and ran a finger against her freckle smattered nose, allowing her hair to fall from its secure against her head and into her face.  As she drifted off to sleep in her usual fashion, which was allowing the tears to beckon her until she was too drained to move anymore, the visions of Marcy's Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry letter stuck out distinctly in her head, as if it had been her own.

Marcy Narcissa "Drummond" Weasley-Malfoy

The Home Away From Home

Delivered by Neville "Lovegood" Longbottom

1st of July

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Hopefully that wasn't too confusing! I wanted everyone to have a taste of reading it before I got into all the legal mumbo jumbo

Rating: It is considered "R", even though the "R" section of the rating probably won't appear until the middle of the story.

  
Summary: Ginny Weasley, known now as Ginny Drummond, is living in muggle Manchester with her two children, Marcy and Julian.  When Marcy receives her Hogwarts letter, Ginny is forced to decide if she is prepared to return to the wizarding world and regain the life she left behind.  The only catch is the man that she "lost" 9 years prior, her reason for running, and the possibility that his undying love for her could be the only reason for facing life and returning to her destiny.

DISCLAIMER: The wonderful plot belongs to JKR, all the aspects of Harry Potter belong to JKR, and again I am not receiving any sort of payment for writing this fanfiction other than personal fulfillment and a wonderful way to twiddle my thumbs until the coming 6th book.


	2. Indecent Exposure

Neville felt the familiar tug on his navel as he landed with a loud thump in the back alley of a small street in England. He dusted off his clothes and brushed off his head, throwing the tacky bowler hat over a nearby fence. Pulling a long piece of willow out of his pocket he conjured up a pair of piercing black robes, allowing them to billow about him as he tied the strings into a knot beneath his chin. Breathing deeply he moved out into the summer sun of the small street, looking around for the tell tale red phone booth. He found it with ease and looking the most normal he could he made his way into it, cramming himself into the small space. It wasn't long before he was inside the Ministry of Magic, headquarters of the Minister of Magic and the different departments of wizarding causes around the world. He smiled lopsidedly at the woman behind the main desk as he handed her his wand. She blew a small bubble with a piece of bubblegum and popped it loudly as she handed his checked wand back to him, smiling curtly over a copy of Witch Weekly. Neville moved along the bustling corridors, passing the different training rooms for the Aurors and the Department of Mysteries as he made his way towards the Department of Magical Transportation, smiling brightly and waving every few moments when a person he knew passed him.

Entering the small office, he closed the door behind him and slumped into the nearest swiveling desk chair. A woman sat in the desk in front of him, her auburn colored head bowed over a mountain of paper work and her eyes, which could barely be seen, were shining a dull russet color from hours of late work. He coughed purposely and laughed as she looked up, her hair flipped up and matted against her forehead. She let out a small giggle as she swiveled to look at him, her eyes studying him profusely.

"What brings you to my domain at this hour Mr. Longbottom?" She asked, far too professionally. He smirked at her and shrugged his shoulders, looking at her work on her desk with confusion.

"Why do you need adoption papers Hermione?" He asked curiously, eyeing the material.

"Ron and I want to adopt Michael." She replied shortly, looking back up at Neville with tired eyes, "It's so hard for Ron you know, he was named godfather when Michael was born and when the boy was only two Fred and Angelina disappeared. He wasn't planning on being a father anytime soon. But now, now he thinks it's right…Michael needs a father, and Ron needs the support too." She huffed, turning back towards the papers, "I didn't know it would be so difficult to adopt his godson. He has legal rights over him; I don't see why it has to be this time consuming."

"Can't Arthur do anything about it?" Neville asked.

"Even the Minister of Magic has his limitations." She stated, looking away again, "Just sometimes it's hard. Ron and I have already given up so much for everyone. He took up his new job only a few months ago, he's having a horrid time adjusting to desk work, and of course trying to find Mel a job isn't working to well either."

"How is Mel?"

"As good as she could be I suppose." Hermione replied, standing up and smoothing out her skirt, which was black and clung to her long legs from sitting for so long, "It has to be hard I assume, living for nine years with an M.I.A. husband and a daughter who isn't even known to be in existence." She stopped, looking over Neville for a second, as if something amazingly dawned on her, "Oh I've been so foolish Neville! Rambling on like this, I haven't even taken you into consideration! There has to be a reason why you're here! Please, have a cup of coffee, we can talk."

"I really don't have the time Hermione. I just needed to give you this; I know you will see Albus before I do." He responded, pushing the letter towards her. She paused and flipped it over, running her finger along the familiar loopy print before gasping just slightly, holding the letter against her chest.

"Neville this…"

"Is a surprise?" When she nodded he extended a hand to her and stood, pulling her into a light hug, "It was a surprise to me when she informed me of her whereabouts. I couldn't even begin to imagine what Marcy and Julian would look like, but I've been seeing them a lot Hermione; those kids haven't changed a bit. Julian looks like a typical Weasley but Marcy looks just like her father."

"Why are you giving this to me?" She asked, clearly confused.

"Ginny doesn't want Marcy to go."

"Surely the girl can't go to any of the other wizarding schools around here; they all produce loads of Dark Magic! No, no I will send this back to Ginny immediately and demand that she send Marcy to Hogwarts. It's only proper…it's the only good school!"

"Hermione…it isn't about Hogwarts. It's Marcy…she…she doesn't know. She doesn't know any of it, not about you or Ron or the rest of the Weasleys or her father. This place…all of it (he spoke, while swishing his arms around him and indicating the small office room) doesn't exist in her mind. She doesn't know she's a witch."

Marcy awoke on her birthday, the 11th of July, when the sun was shining brightly in the pastel blue sky in at her from her open bedroom window. She stretched liberally and yawned loudly, shaking herself from her bedclothes and moving to allow her toes to escape to the coolness of the floor. She smiled to herself, she was 11, and even though she couldn't feel any difference she knew that her 11th birthday would be different than any other. Her mother hadn't done her usual bout of hinting about parties and gifts, Julian had been unusually quiet, and Mr. Lovegood hadn't stopped by unexpected and unwelcome. In fact, as she brushed her hair back into two long pigtails, she realized her birthday seemed to have arrived unannounced.

After dressing in a simple cardigan and a pair of shorts, Marcy descended the stairs, surprised to find her mother still in her dressing gown sipping on a large mug of coffee.

"Did you have a long night at the hospital mum?" Marcy asked tentatively, pouring herself a bowl of cereal from the box that laid half opened on the table.

"Yes, then I had to bring your brother to a friend's house this morning."

"What about my birthday?" Marcy demanded angrily. Her spoon was twirling about her cereal and mashing it to bits underneath the milk but it didn't seem to matter as she stared at mother with such intensity that it seemed to make her cobalt eyes even brighter.

"I thought we could spend the day together." Her mother offered, pushing a tendril of her hair from her eye, "Just us." Marcy seemed to contemplate that situation for a moment before nodding, finishing the rest of her mashed cereal. She placed her dish in the sink before sitting again, resting her chin between her fingertips and tapping them lightly. Her mother finished the last sip of her coffee before smacking her lips and staring back at her, a small smile playing across them, "What would you like to do today Marcy?"

"Could we go to the library?" She asked tentatively, waiting for her mother to approve. Her mother had never seemed like the bookish type, always opting for a trip to the local cinema or a night of games rather than heading to the library, but she seemed to force a smile and nod, causing Marcy's veins to burst with joy.

Marcy crashed upon her bed, bouncing lightly as the mattress bowed under her weight. It could have also been the liberal stack of books in her arms that had to weigh a couple of ounces each, and each tome was a good amount of pages. The stack tilted under strain and beckoned to fall, catching Marcy's eyes as she scattered the books about her bed in a heaping pile.

The trip to the library had been oddly entertaining and peaceful, and Marcy took to note that her mother and she hadn't argued at all. In fact, her mother had disappeared into the uppermost section of the Non-Fiction section while Marcy had attended to the Ancient History department. The books scattered about her bed contained the most detailed of stories on the Ancient Egyptians, the Roman Empire, and the Medieval Period. Her mother had originally seemed skeptical to allow her to borrow them from the library, but when a handsome boy who towered over her in height informed her mother of the educational qualities of the tomes, Ms. Drummond had willingly agreed.

Marcy picked up one of the larger books and scanned the cover with her eyes, lingering just slightly on the enlarged picture of a fire-breathing dragon. Its' scales were iridescent in color and flickered as the falling sun from her window fell upon the cover. The dragon's eyes were pearl colored and flickered as well, the pupil-less orbs shining with the reflection of the fire spitting from its snout. A knight, or what Marcy presumed to be one, was standing with his sword raised in the corner of the cover, his metallic armor colored darkly and a noticeable contrast to the dragon. Marcy smiled as she opened the book and began to read. Medieval stories of England in the middle ages had always fascinated her, and she became engrossed in a story of King Arthur and his greatest knights.

A door slamming downstairs alerted her to her mother's leave, which wasn't anything uncommon at 6 o'clock on her birthday. No matter how much she protested, her mother had always insisted upon cooking her a "grand" dinner each year. It was a supposed tradition, even though Marcy usually ended up retreating to her room with a grumbling and angry stomach after the meal was finished. It wasn't that her mother was a terrible cook; it was possibly the fact that her mother had never _learned _how to cook, because she had problems with the simplest tasks. Boiling water for rice was a chore and using the oven (which Marcy was sure had never completed a hitch-free meal) was off limits. Julian was a better cook than her mother and could whip up a mighty good peanut butter and jelly sandwich if he tried, Marcy thought, as she listened for the quietness that usually followed her mother's outings. Making up her mind and shoving the King Arthur book aside, Marcy made her way to the kitchen.

A pot of what Marcy assumed was supposed to be tomato sauce was bubbling wickedly on the stove top, eerie bubbles of putrid blood red goop spitting all over the place. A simple note lay on the counter.

_Marcy,_

_ I am running out to retrieve a new bottle of spices. It seems that the holes seem to grow bigger each time I open that Garlic Powder, and this sauce has officially devoured my final bottle._

_ Your mum_

Marcy couldn't help but laugh at the empty bottle of Garlic Powder that sat next to the letter. The holes in the top of the bottle, which weren't supposed to be larger than a pin head, had somehow become the size of small buttons. She shook her head as she moved to the sauce and attempted to fix her mother's damage with a wooden spoon, taking deliberately slow stirs as she tasted it for imperfections. She winced from the overbearing taste as a small tapping could be heard from the window by the bathroom. Placing the wooden spoon down on the stove top, Marcy moved to the window and opened it wide, almost taken aback when a large bird flew through and landed with a thump on top of the cupboard.

"What are you?" She asked, cautiously taking a step towards the bird. It was the color of beach sand, a light pastel of colors floating throughout its wings. Its head seemed to swivel back and forth as it stared at her, its large yellow eyes studying her face. It let out a soft hoot as it extended one of its talons.

Not only was Marcy amazed to see a bird, no an _owl _in her kitchen, it baffled her beyond all extreme to see a small piece of decrepit yellowing paper tied with a piece of twine to the owl's talon. She reached out a finger to stroke the owl's wing but made no attempt to grab the paper, which seemed to confuse the owl as it nipped at her finger pointedly. With no one around to tell her otherwise, Marcy let her trembling fingers remove the twine as the letter fell to the floor. The owl hooted appreciatively and made to flying out the window, leaving Marcy alone in her kitchen.

Marcy's mind was racing with a million thoughts as she trembled to pick up the article on the floor. It was addressed to a Virginia Malfoy, which (had the last name been different) Marcy would have sworn to be her mother. Part of her wanted to read the contents of the paper and see who could possibly be contacting her mother in a way that wasn't the British post office. The rest of Marcy was scared to her bones, for despite the fact that she was only 11 she was quite sure owls were not supposed to be delivering mail.

Going with her more courageous side, Marcy flipped open the paper and stared blankly at the scrawled ink handwriting, taking in its contents.

_Dear Ms. Virginia Malfoy,_

_ As I am sure you are aware, 9 years have passed since the disappearance of your husband, Mr. Draco Malfoy, upon a mission for the Ministry of Magic. As you are also aware, his mother's hefty estate was bequeathed onto him, and now it is available for your inheritance. While Mr. Draco Malfoy has not been pronounced as a casualty yet (usually the only circumstances allowing the forwarding of a will to in-laws) the Ministry has taken into consideration your predicament._

_On my own personal note, wish your daughter a happy birthday for me __Virginia__, and hopefully I will see her on the train September first._

_ Regards,_

_ Blaise Zambini_

_ Chairperson_

_ Department of Internal Affairs_

Marcy dropped the letter to the floor, her cobalt blue eyes sinking into the back of her head as her mind floated on twenty different clouds. She had never heard of this "Ministry of Magic" nor this Draco Malfoy man, but it seemed as if her mother (the person she had deducted to be Virginia Malfoy) knew him plenty. If she was reading correctly, this Draco Malfoy was her father, and he had gone away 9 years ago. She would have been only two… 

The opening of the door to her right summoned her eyes to the forefront, her skin tingling in anger as her mother entered cheerily. She smiled brightly as she set her bag of groceries on the counter, running her hand across her brow to erase sweat from the trip outside.

"Is something wrong Marcy dear? You look a bit flushed." She said exuberantly, wrapping a finger in her tousled hair.

"W-Who is Blaise Zambini?" Marcy stuttered, staring at her mother. Her eyes seemed to flash with what Marcy thought was fear for a brief second and then it was gone, replaced by what seemed to be a very fake shield of confusion.

"I've never heard of that name before." Her mother replied, staring hard at her groceries as she moved about to put them away instead of looking back at Marcy.

"Why must you lie to me?" Marcy sniffled through tears of anger that ebbed at her eyes and nostrils, "He sent you a letter!" She said a little more forcefully, picking up the discarded paper and thrusting it into her mothers face, "Read it for yourself if you don't believe me!"

Her mother began to read slowly, her cocoa eyes scanning the paper quickly and her slightly offset smile becoming a straight line as her face began to glow in a crimson blush. Her fingers began to shake and she stared back up at Marcy, her jaw set in an edgy stance.

"Marcy…" She started, moving towards her daughter.

"So…it's true then? This Blaise person…he knows you and he knows dad?" She shouted angrily. Her mother blanched as she the word "dad". It had become common knowledge in the Drummond household that her mother didn't like to talk about the man that shared half of Marcy's DNA. In fact, any time someone brought up the man whom Marcy couldn't remember (besides his smile) her mother would retreat to her bedroom in tears and not come out for a few mornings, causing life to momentarily stop at the Drummond home near the Highland Developing Community. But as Marcy thought of this, she realized that she had no idea who she was. Drummond, if that was anyone's name at all, certainly wasn't hers since her mother was going by the name of Malfoy in the letter she received. Who was she? Was there really a Marcy Drummond? And if not…if Marcy Drummond was just some sort of pseudonym to keep her away from everyone…why was her mother hiding her in Manchester of all places?

If her mother had been talking, the blinding rage growing in Marcy's head and abdomen was blocking out all of her words. It was white hot and heavy in her brain as Marcy attempted to shield it, attempted to keep it under control. Tears were streaming from her eyes regardless of her attempts to keep them at bay and her fingers were clenching into her palm, causing small nail prints to seep blood across her usually flawless skin. Out of the corner of her mind she heard her mother gasp and a bright light fill the kitchen, followed by the stench of burning skin.

Looking at her mother, Marcy was surprised to see the letter was now nothing more than a ball of flames. The flames lapped at her mother's fingers as the woman yelped and attempted to drop the paper, but much to Marcy's astonishment it continued to burn even as she went and grabbed a glass of water to pour over it. Gritting her teeth in pain, her mother was finally able to let the letter slip to the floor as it disintegrated to nothing but ash. Marcy could feel her jaw, wide in shock; almost bounce on the floor as her mother shoved her blistering fingers underneath the water spicket, moaning loudly.

"What am I?" She said out loud, her mind searching for answers. Only 20 minutes ago an owl had flown in through an open window with a letter attached to its talon, then there had been the discussions of people like Draco Malfoy and Departments of Internal Affairs at the Ministry of Magic, and now her mother was sitting with blistered fingers because her anger had somehow made a piece of paper she wasn't even touching burst into flames. Her mind was spinning as she closed her eyes and attempted to sit down and regain her balance, her stomach tugging forward in a way she had never felt as the emotions of really being what Oliver Puddley had called her, a _freak, _finally set in. 

The sound of her mother's moaning and the water running slid from her ears as she landed against the stool in the kitchen. However, it didn't feel anything like a stool, for it seemed softer than usual and she could have sworn it literally groaned under her weight as she fell into it. The sounds of her kitchen had been replaced with the chirping of crickets and the pounding of something foreign.

Marcy forced her eyes to open and she could have gasped if she had found her voice. She was sitting in a very tiny living room, a living room that had extremely ratty couches and a large clock with many different hands. A table could be seen just out of the corner of her eye that held enough seats for up to ten people and a large staircase swung up in a spiral in the center of the room. The stool, or what she had thought was a stool, groaned underneath her and the mysterious pounding she had heard before developed into a heartbeat.

Looking down, she realized she was sitting on the legs of a boy, maybe only a few years older than her, with skin the color of freshly whipped peanut butter and hair the color of mud. He was staring up at her with midnight eyes and smirking just slightly, his fingers smashed against the arm rest of the chair he was sitting in.

"UNCLE RON UNCLE RON MICHAEL HAS A ** GIRL **ON HIS LAP!" A little girl from the stairs shrieked, running crazily about Marcy and the boy she assumed to be Michael in a tight circle. Marcy's head began to spin fearfully as she realized she was no longer in her own home, but in someone else's, and the boy whose lap she was sitting on had to catch her as her body gave way beneath her and she slumped into darkness.

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Hopefully that didn't cause too much confusion!

Someone did ask me where I got Marcy's name from. Actually, the name Marcy (if you noticed) came to me back when I was writing _A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes. _The name Drummond, however, comes from the ever popular American TV Land show, Different Strokes, which I grew up watching as a kid. I thought it was catchy.

Everything involving Marcy will be explained within the next few chapters, as well as Michael's circumstances, how Melinda (which if you didn't catch was referred to as 'Mel' in this chapter) is doing, who the annoying little girl is, how practically EVERYONE in the Weasley household is surviving since the prequel left off, and what exactly happened or will become of Draco and Harry [yes I promise you, they are in this story!]

READ ON


	3. The Burrow

Author's Note: Okay, I think I may have confused some people. This quick author's note will just be a character line, so no one else is confused.

**Marcy Drummond- **_11yrs old. _Daughter to G.W. and D.M

**Julian Drummond- **_9 yrs old. _ Son to G.W. and D.M

**Michael Weasley- **_13 yrs old. _ Son to F.W. and A.J. Adopted Son of H.G. and R.W. (Not included in prequel)

**Andrew Potter- **_13 yrs old. _Son to H.P. and M.P

**Lillian Potter- **_8 yrs old. _Daughter to H.P. and M.P

There you go. That should solve some things. READ ON AND REVIEW PLEASE!

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            The sun that was floating in through the open window abruptly woke Marcy from a deep slumber.  The air was stifling hot as she kicked off the thin sheet that covered her, pushing it down to the end of her bed and allowing it to coil about her ankles.  Almost immediately she sensed the difference in the room she was in, the room that was obviously not hers.  The walls were the most putrid orange color she had ever seen and many different odds and ends were crammed in various places.  Her bed was staggered haphazardly against one wall while another bed, which had obviously been slept in, was horribly folded against another.  She felt her pulse quickening as she realized that the door to this strange room was sitting open and a small girl, possibly no older than Julian, was staring in at her with wide emerald eyes.

            She had seen the little girl the day before, when she had landed with a thud on that boy's lap in the middle of the living room.  Her hair was pin straight and black as night, her eyes flickering in the sunlight and her small face, which was beautifully flawless, was concentrating on Marcy's now awake form.

            "Hi." Marcy spoke quietly, as to not scare the girl, who looked like she could jump and disappear at the moment's notice.  The girl began to chew on her thumb as she watched Marcy, a piece of her hair falling into her eyes, "My name's Marcy."

            The girl seemed to think for a minute before stepping into the room and crossing to the poorly made bed, flopping down on it cautiously.  She resumed chewing on her thumb and remaining silent, choosing instead to watch as Marcy cautiously stood.  Marcy's feet were slightly achy and wobbly as she stood up straight, shaking out her hair that had become terribly tangled.

            A boy happened to walk by the room in that moment and stopped quickly, looking in at Marcy and at the young ebony haired girl before walking in, smirking lightly at the girl and then Marcy.  Marcy had never seen him before, but he had a lovely smile with perfectly white teeth that contrasted well with his light puffy brown hair.

            "Glad to see you're up." He stated, extending a single hand, "The name's Andrew."

            Marcy generously took his hand and shook it, her fingers becoming warm and sweaty, "I'm Marcy."

            "Yeah, my mum told me.  Speaking of which Lillian, mum wants you in the kitchen now.  She doesn't sound too thrilled." The tiny ebony haired girl scurried out of the door and down the steps that Marcy presumed were at the end of the hall, for her feet were making the most atrocious banging sound.

            "Where am I?" Marcy whispered to Andrew, staring at him with a blank expression.  He ran a hand through his hair and then jammed his hands deep into his pockets, rocking back and forth just a bit.

            "Do you know where Ottery St. Catchpole is?" He answered.  When she nodded he sighed, lifting his finger to the window behind her.

            "Ottery St. Catchpole is about 10 minutes in that direction.  A quaint town I've heard, though I've never been there myself."

            "Is this your house?" She asked quietly.

            "Sure is." He began to move out of the room, beckoning for her to follow him as he continued to talk, "Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron lived here with Gram and Pop before we did, but when my mum asked if she could stay here for a few days, Aunt Hermione told us we could move in.  Said she wouldn't have it any other way."

            "That was awfully nice of them." She stated, padding down the stairs behind Andrew. 

            "Considering they aren't really related to us at all, but were just best mates with my dad, I would call it more than nice.  The Burrow's quite a cool place once you get used to it.  Watch your step by the way, that floorboard creaks.  You don't want to be waking up anything in this house at this hour."

            The "Burrow", as he had called the house, was definitely "cool" indeed.  Maybe a bit on the peculiar side, but Marcy never discredited the peculiar.  The stairs were longer than any she had ever seen and it had taken two more landings before they were on the ground level, facing the room she had appeared in the day before.  On a second glance, it truly was a small room; two medium sized couches extended one wall while a table with a chess set and two chairs extended the other.  The clock she had seen, the one with multiple hands, was ticking nearby and the face that read "Andrew" was now pointed at the words that read "living room".  Baffled, Marcy moved into the kitchen, the one she had seen with the many different tiny chairs, and was even more confused at the sight she saw over the open fireplace.

            There, boiling rapidly was something that looked like a cauldron she had once seen in a Halloween movie.  It was pewter black and seemed to be _floating _in the flames, its broth (which surprisingly wasn't green) bubbling.  Marcy looked at Andrew for a moment, her mouth hanging down, as she pointed to the cauldron.  He simply laughed and allowed her to sit down, taking the seat across from her.

            "Want some pumpkin juice?" he offered, handing her a pitcher.  Her nose crinkled as she caught a smell of the substance.  Its color matched the one in her room upstairs and small pieces of pulp seemed to be floating awkwardly throughout it.  She shook her head and pushed the pitcher away, causing another laugh to escape Andrew's bright lips.

            "What is so funny in here?" A feminine voice came from the garden, almost halting as her russet eyes met with Marcy's cobalt ones.  She smiled sweetly and entered the kitchen and sat herself down next to Andrew, pouring herself her own glass of this so-called pumpkin juice, "It's good to see you woke up.  I thought for just a second you would sleep forever, your mother was always a later sleeper." The woman pushed a sweaty piece of auburn hair out of her eyes while flapping her hand in front of her face like a fan, "Would you like anything Marcy?"

            "H-How did you know my name?" She asked intuitively, looking at Andrew.  She only just remembered that he had said something about his mum knowing her name.

            "There are some things in life that are better to discuss at later times." The woman answered, obviously avoiding the real question.  Her eyes locked with Marcy's again and she reached her hand forward, allowing it to fall to rest over Marcy's, "If you need anything during your stay, just let me know."

            "I want to know who all of you are." She said blatantly, looking back and forth between Andrew and the woman in front of her, "I know that his name is Andrew and that his sister is Lillian…but I don't know anything else.  Who are you?  How did I get here?  Where's my mum?"  Her voice seemed to crack on the last sentence as she forced herself not to show her emotions.  The woman, on the other hand, seemed to tense for a moment before sighing and releasing Marcy's hand, folding hers underneath her arms lightly.

            "I will fill you in on some things Marcy, but until your mum arrives or my husband comes home I'm afraid I can't say much.  My name is Hermione Weasley.  My husband is Ron Weasley and our son is Michael…but I am sure you already met him." She spoke with a twinkle in her eye, "Yes this is Andrew.  His mother, Melinda and his sister, Lillian, live with us."  Hermione stopped, looking a bit exhausted, "Anything else I'm afraid will have to wait.  Andrew, why don't you go find Michael and Lillian and teach Marcy here how to play chess."

            "But Aunt Hermione…" The boy began to argue as Hermione stood and shot him a devilish look, his mouth closing defiantly.  He nodded his head and took off up the stairs, leaving Marcy alone in the kitchen as Hermione disappeared as well.  It seemed that only minutes had passed before Andrew had reappeared with Michael (she recognized him immediately with his mud colored hair) and Lillian, who was following behind them very slowly and still chewing on her finger.  Michael waved at Marcy and introduced himself, shaking her hand enthusiastically.

            They moved out into the garden where a chessboard was set on a small table surrounded by chairs.  Michael quickly took the seat on the white side while Andrew took up the seat with the black pieces, Marcy sitting in the center while Lillian seemed to ignore them all together and moved out to play on the swing suspended from the nearest tree.

            "Ignore her," Michael said passively, "She rarely ever talks when we are around, and she doesn't like new people.  She'll come around eventually."

            The boys played a vicious game as Marcy watched Michael easily take most of Andrew's pieces.  When his king was finally checkmated Andrew turned his attention to Marcy, who was shading her face from the sun.

            "So Marcy, why don't you tell us a little about yourself?" Andrew asked, putting his chin in his hands.

            "I don't really know." She replied, "I don't really know who I am."  
            "That's impossible." Michael butted in, tossing his rook back and forth between his hands, "Everyone knows who they are."

            "I don't." She replied moodily, looking at both of them, "I'm only 11, I don't know everything about myself yet."

            "I'm 13 and I know a lot." Michael answered, staring at her, "My parents died when I was two.  Hermione and Ron are my adoptive parents.  I go to boarding school.  I like sports.  Now come on Marcy, if I can say something about myself, so can you."

            Marcy began to talk and continued to talk for the next hour, telling Michael and Andrew everything about her life, from the Highland Developing Community to her temper and enjoyment of beating up frivolous boys like Oliver Puddley and Hank Thomas.  They both seemed to relate to her on the concept of growing up without a father figure, since Andrew's had disappeared at a young age and Michael's had passed away.  At one point, Michael had tossed his rook at Marcy; she made him gasp when she caught the rook with ease and set it back on the table.  He had whispered something into Andrew's ear excitedly, and then the moment was over and both boys had started up another game of chess while talking with Marcy.  Andrew won, although Marcy could have sworn Michael let him win, the twinkle in the boy's midnight eyes suggesting it.  When Hermione called them inside to dinner, Marcy had yet to realize that the sun had set in the sky and a wonderful smell had wafted out into the garden.

            A wonderful setting was established at the table as Marcy quickly took her seat between Andrew and Michael.  Lillian sat across from her but refused to say a word, her emerald green eyes twinkling with wonderment.  Another woman had joined them, the woman that Marcy had deducted to be Melinda, and was now animatedly talking with Hermione.  Marcy listened intently to the conversations, chewing every once and awhile on the delicious Sheppard's Pie that had been laid out in front of her.  When the meal was over she went to leave, but a loud popping sound and the appearance of a man in the kitchen startled her beyond all belief.

            The man wasn't extremely tall; his body was lankier and his muscles compromised for his build.  He had eyes that could have matched hers in color and hair that, had it been longer, would have been exactly the same as her mothers.  Looking about, for the first time that evening Marcy noticed the similarities of all the people in the room.  This man, Melinda, Hermione…she had seen them all before.

            Reaching into her pocket as the man pulled off a long cloak that billowed around him and was greeted by all of the people at the table, Marcy extracted the long worn out photo of her mother's family.  Her mother, smiling brightly with her large belly and Marcy in-toe was standing next to the people she could recognize now.  Hermione was the woman with the wind whipped brown hair, Melinda was the fair skinned woman, her husband was obviously the ebony haired man that Lillian looked so much alike, and this new arrival was the man that had been standing next to Hermione, eating her hair by accident.

            Her whole body began to shudder as she dropped the picture to the floor, tears beckoning at the back of her eyelids.  She attempted to keep her emotions under control but they broke as the new arrival stepped towards her and extended a hand, introducing himself as Ron Weasley.

            "WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE?" She bellowed, looking up at all of their shocked expressions, "I don't understand how I got here, I don't know who any of you are, and moreover I don't know how I know you but I obviously do!"  She bent down to pick up the picture and shoved it into Ron's face, pointing at his former form in the snapshot, "That's you isn't it?  And Hermione and Melinda and whoever her husband is?  And that's me right there…how do I know all of you?" She yelled again, circling about the table.  Andrew stood up and ushered Lillian and Michael out of the room, looking at her sympathetically as she collapsed into an empty chair, her tears finally flowing.  She felt someone sit next to her and an arm move about her soothingly, rubbing her back in odd circles that seemed to make her anger ebb away.  Someone else was forcing a drink to her mouth and she took drank angrily, the horrible taste burning down the back of her throat.  She stared at Hermione, then at Ron, then at Melinda, her eyes becoming foggy and her mind starting to drift away.

            "I just want to know who I am." She whispered before falling asleep on the table, her head landing softly as Ron quickly conjured a pillow from the glass she had left empty.

            "We have to tell her." She could hear a man's voice saying as she slowly woke, her mind fuzzy and her eyes refusing to come into focus, "She doesn't deserve to be hidden from everything."

            "It's Ginny's place to tell her, not ours Ron."

            "Hermione, if we don't tell her, what will happen?  She is more powerful than even you were at the showing year.  She apparated here, I saw the message on Dad's desk this morning.  Not even you could do that at 11."

            "Ron she knows nothing…if we tell her anything at all…it could send her into shock…she could…"

            "Damn Hermione it doesn't matter anymore.  She has to know the truth.  I'm owling Neville and having him get Ginny here at once." The voices seemed to stop and move away from her.  Marcy sighed and felt sleep roll over her again.  This man, this "Ron", he evidently knew her mother (as well as Mr. Lovegood, though at the moment Marcy could care less about Mr. Lovegood's predicament).  He wanted to tell her something, something important.  Maybe something that tied into this Ministry of Magic and Blaise Zambini fellow.

As sleep came over her again, Marcy was left with thoughts of apparating, whatever that was, and the faceless man from her picture.


	4. Escaping Murmansk

AN: This is in no way, shape, or form supposed to be slash-like. So please, don't take it that way…

This chapter is really going to go back and forth between two different settings that are happening at exactly the same time or extremely close to it.  I hope no one is confused.  The first setting is the Burrow in Ottery St. Catchpole, England and the second is a prisoner of war camp in Murmansk, Russia and its surrounding areas.

KEEP READING

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            The body sleeping beside him was relaxing, but extremely uncomfortable.  The tiny cot was only built for the frame of one body, not two and especially not two fully grown men.  But when the barracks were full and only one cot remained, any self respecting inmate would take the uncomfortable over freezing to death.  For the first time in months Draco Malfoy could feel his toes, and even that was worth sleeping next to Harry Potter for the night.

            Rolling over so Harry's breath was no longer running across his chest, Draco began to stare out of the small window hole in the barrack wall.  The moon was barely visible above the puff of clouds that dotted the midnight sky.  It looked like it was going to snow again (it wouldn't be the first time that week) which would mean twice the work load as normal.  McDowell, the camp captain, would make sure that the rations were small until the work was done and Draco's small frame would only grow smaller.

            A small tear rolled down from Draco's metallic eyes as the wind blew just a bit, tickling at his bare chest.  Draco wasn't normally a man to cry, in fact he was normally one of the toughest individuals in his barrack, but late at night when the even breathing of everyone around him ensured him of his privacy, he would allow the tears to flow.  For the first 2 years of his absence from Ottery St. Catchpole Draco had served with Aurors in Romania, fighting to bring down his father.  He had come close once, but had been separated from Harry in the process and shoved into one of the Romanian prison camps nearby.  He wasn't sure why his father had kept him alive, maybe it was out of pure spite, for he had come to determine that life in a prison camp was far worse than dying.

            Four years had passed at the prison camp in Romania.  Sometimes Draco referred to those four years as "The Years of Hell" for the only thing that had kept him living was the fact that his wife, daughter, and child were somewhere far away from the fighting.  He was moved into a prison in Murmansk, Russia, where he was currently stationed 3 years prior.  The weather was brutal when the wind blew or the snow fell and the guards were tougher than those from Romania.  McDowell was constantly crushing down on Draco, his tobacco stained teeth and yellowing face always implanted in a snarl whenever Draco walked by.

            Three weeks ago a very frail looking man had walked into Draco's barracks, and it wasn't until after a customary scrubbing and cleanup that Draco had recognized the man to be Harry Potter.  Draco had spent most of his evenings when he should have been sleeping nursing Harry back to as much health as Draco could muster, for which Harry was grateful.  But now, staring up at the pale moon, Harry's arrival wasn't at the forefront of his mind.

            Harry's return had brought forth some startling truths about the fighting in Romania.  His father had been defeated at a very bloody battle near Germany and the strength of the opposition was dwindling.  In time, Draco thought, they might be freed.  He might be able to see his family again.  Another tear slipped down his cheek as he thought of Ginny.  His wife was perfect in his opinion, with her flaming red hair and coffee colored eyes.  She was beautiful when she laughed and even more gorgeous when she was angry at him or flared her temper.  Their daughter, Marcy, and unborn child had been his dream.  But Draco Malfoy no longer had dreams.

            The large walls that surrounded the prison of Murmansk kept his dreams far from the safety of his heart.  The walls were invisible to the naked eye, but any person daring enough to go and touch one had fallen to an untimely fate.  Draco could see them every night as the wind swept snow against them, dotting there outlines around the camp.  They kept the magic, if there even was any left, hidden deep within the prison walls.  Draco's wand had been stripped many years ago, leaving him with only the hope of a rescue mission as his survival.

            That was why, in the middle of the night with tears running down his cheeks, Draco was surprised to see red sparks flying across the fields.  The sparks were small, but evident, and their glow was shimmering across the small amount of snow on the ground.  The walls would have prevented any wand sparks at all but there they were, right in front of his face.  The sparks could only mean one thing…

            "Harry!" Draco whispered as he rolled onto his side, brushing the tear stains off his face and pulling the small blanket they had off of the bed.  Harry's body began to visibly quiver in the chill night air before his emerald eyes slid open.  They were emotionless, Draco noticed, and large bruises hung beneath them from lack of sleep.  Harry rubbed his eyes, which were no longer wire-rimmed in glasses, and shot Draco a harsh look as he jumped out of the cot and began to move about collecting things.

            "What in Merlin's name are you doing Draco?  It's only midnight I'd presume.  Count doesn't start for four hours."

            "Keep your voice down." Draco snapped, pulling his feet into the slippers that were lying at the base of the cot, "Look out the window and tell me what you see."

            "Sparks." Harry said lamely.  As Draco looked up at him, understanding seemed to erupt on Harry's face as he turned back to the window, his lips breaking out in the first grin Draco had seen on him in weeks, "Blimey, its wand sparks!  Draco does that mean…"

            "Yes." He cut in; pushing the parcel he had created for just the occasion and Harry's slippers into his hands, "We run."

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            Ginny Malfoy had no intention of listening to her brother's ramblings as he barked at her from the hallway.  She was seated in the kitchen in her usual spot, two to the right of the door on the left side, her hands folded beneath her chin and her eyes concentrated on Hermione, who was cooking bacon at the fire.  She didn't look much different from the last time Ginny had seen her; her hair was still as bushy but only a tad longer and her eyes (which had studied Ginny for a brief second when she had apparated in) were still as full of wisdom as they had been 9 years earlier.

            "Ginny will you just listen to me already?  Your daughter is upstairs demanding us to tell her who she is and we don't know what to do!  We have already gotten six Hogwarts letters from Dumbledore demanding a reply about her schooling and her showing is growing stronger every day."

            "I know." She finally replied, looking at him harshly.  Her brother, regardless of his wild temper, always held a soft spot for her.  It did pay to be the baby of the family, she recognized, as the anger in his blue eyes ebbed away, "Believe me Ron; I know how powerful she is.  She is a Malfoy after all."

            "Then why won't you just tell her who she is?" He asked, falling into one of the chairs beside her, "Why won't you just tell her that she's a witch?  She is a smart girl Gin, Hermione told me about the way she handled things around here and the way she reacted about being around Michael and Andrew.  She'd have a good life at Hogwarts."

            "I…I don't know if I can tell her…" Ginny started, her eyes brimming with tears, "It…it would be too much Ron…I've tried my hardest to just forget about…you know…"

            "Draco?" Hermione asked from above the fire.  Her russet eyes were staring at Ginny with devilishness and what also looked like veiled sympathy.  Ginny nodded her head and then looked back at Ron, who looked more disheveled than ever.

            "She doesn't know about him either." She replied, "She knows he exists of course, she is a Weasley after all and isn't totally daft when it comes to producing children and all of that, but she doesn't remember what he looks like." She produced her wand and conjured up a mug of butterbeer which she slurped before letting out a forced laugh, "I remember when Julian first asked about him.  She simply responded with some fairytale about a knight with a smile brighter than the sun that could carry her and Julian about on his shoulders while flying through the sky on a dragon.  Can you believe that?  She's got quite an imagination doesn't she?  I used to tell her how wrong that all was.  Saying things like 'Daddy couldn't fly dear' and then not speaking about him again for years." She sighed loudly, her fingers missing the mug and knocking it across the table before it fell with a deafening clank on the floor across from her, "I know I'm a horrible parent Ron.  There were plenty of things I should have told Marcy and Julian about when they were young, but you wouldn't know what its like to be a single mum.  You wouldn't know what its like to have to live with the fact that the world you are dying so desperately to introduce your children to, your home mind you, is also the place that took everything you ever dreamed of away."

            "But Gin…"

            "Ron I can't tell her." She breathed loudly, holding her wand parallel with her face while looking at both Hermione and Ron with a bit of sympathy, "Right now…I just have to go home.  I need to get away from all of this.  I can't…no…I won't tell her Ron.  If you have any sense, you won't either…my bat bogey hex would be the least of your worries if you went behind my back and told her something.  But…could you take care of her?  Just for a few days?" She asked, adding a very quiet please when their faces reflected their skeptism.  Hermione stepped forward and embraced Ginny quickly in a hug, muttering an "of course" in her ear before stepping back and taking Ron's hand.  With a quick nod and a flash of light, the Burrow's kitchen was absent of Ginny Malfoy.

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            Draco sighed as he leaned against an oak tree, his matted blonde hair falling into his eyes as he attempted to take deep exhilarating breaths.  Murmansk was nothing but forests and snow at this time of year and the trek across Russia was becoming more and more perilous as the days grew longer.  Harry was weaker than Draco had imagined and his feeble body was suffering terribly from the cold and lack of food.  Draco had only been able to steal small rations as they had made their escape two weeks prior, and even now with still thousands of miles to cross they were only left with a small loaf of bread.  At the moment, they were resting somewhere near St. Petersburg.  Draco was leaning against the oak tree while Harry was sprawled across the forest floor, his hair blending almost perfectly with the dark soil and matted leaves below him.  Harry hadn't said much since they had reached the clearing, in fact he hadn't said much at all since they had escaped.  Neither had Draco for that matter, his mind was set on reaching the European border by nightfall if they moved quickly enough.  As far as Draco knew, the Bullstrode's still lived in Kotka and would be able to transport Draco to the Ministry and Harry to St. Mungo's.

            "Come on Harry." Draco ushered as he went to move towards the direction of St. Petersburg.

            "No please, just a few more minutes…" Harry sighed from the floor.  His green eyes were awfully bland and full of sorrow as he attempted to hold them open and his brow was covered in sweat.  His body was skinnier than usual and his breathing was obviously troubled.  The chill had probably gotten to him, Draco noticed, and by sitting around as he was it wouldn't be too long until hypothermia took over his body.  Shaking his head and pulling him to his feet, Draco allowed Harry to lean on him, "Draco please can't we stop?  I can't do this anymore."

            "No we can't bloody stop Potter.  We didn't get all the way to St. Petersburg to stop." He grunted slightly as they began to walk haphazardly, Draco's height on Harry making it difficult to keep the man on his feet.

            "Then let me stop." He replied breathlessly.  Draco paused for a minute; he could feel his cheeks heating up and anger radiating from his metallic eyes.  Using his free hand, he slapped Harry as hard as he could before straightening him up, his fist shaking in Harry's face.

            "Don't you give up you bastard.  Everything that you've wanted since we were shipped here…everything we have stayed alive all these years for….its right there." He pointed off into the distance and then back at Harry, "Are you going to allow the weather to stop you?"

            "I don't have anything anymore Draco." He murmured again, "You have Ginny…"

            "You have Melinda." Draco screamed loudly, slapping him again, "You have Andrew.  Bloody hell man; don't give up on your family.  They need you!"

            "You don't know that do you Draco?" He sighed, appearing to have regained some of his strength, "It's been 9 fucking years.  For all we know, Melinda and Ginny could be long gone."  Draco let go of Harry's arm and allowed it to cascade down his back before falling limply to Harry's side.  Draco could see his own breath, which was quick from anger and irritation, spouting from his mouth in puff clouds as he stalked away from Harry, his knuckles crunching angrily.  Letting out a loud sigh, Draco turned back to the man before him.  It was odd really, to see the great Harry Potter almost giving in to defeat. That surely had never happened in their childhood or even when they both played Quidditch.  Draco had always considered himself to be so different from Harry.  Their backgrounds had made them enemies and in a miraculous turn of events, it was their families that had conquered friendship between the two.  Now, standing in the frigid air of Northern Russia, Draco was surprised to see the tables turned.  Harry Potter was accepting defeat and Draco Malfoy was pushing him forward.  He wouldn't let him die.  He wouldn't leave him behind.  Harry was right; Melinda and Ginny could be long gone.  His family may have forgotten about him and he may never see his children again.  But Draco Malfoy was never one to give up on circumstance, and not even Merlin could stop him from taking the chances.

            "We'll never know if we don't keep going." He mumbled back over his head, the first smile breaking out on his face in days when he heard the crunching of leaves from behind him and the presence of another person standing beside him.  He slipped Harry's arm around him again and trudged forward into the forthcoming darkness.

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            Marcy had spent the better portion of her waking hours staring into the mirror that hung over the chest of drawers.  Her reflection wasn't anything new really…she had changed only once since her arrival at the Burrow and even the horribly fitting sundress Hermione had made her wear didn't change her appearance much.  Her strawberry blonde hair hung in a plait behind her ears and sparkled in the sunlight.  The sapphire color of her eyes was vibrant from the amount of sleep she had gotten recently and sparks of what looked like deep smoky gray twinkled.  In fact, her reflection in her opinion was quite mundane, but the mirror itself was another story.  Within the last few hours, Marcy was sure she had heard it _comment _on her appearance, smirking off in a rather articulate French accent, "My, you are a pretty young lass now aren't you?" and things of the sort.

            Leaving the mirror alone, Marcy moved to the bed she had used for the previous nights and began to make it up, folding the sheets over carefully and placing them in line with everything else.  It was busy work, but with nothing else to do and no real desire to go downstairs Marcy had taken up doing pointless jobs around the room.  The putrid orange room, for a room that was home to a little girl like Lily, wasn't very childish at all.  In fact, Marcy hadn't seen a single child's toy since she had arrived at the Burrow, making things horribly boring at times.  Sighing to herself and moving to the dresser with the mirror, Marcy began to dig through the drawers for something to do.

            The first thing she came upon was a large book.  The book itself was quite large and edged in gold, the cover itself done up in wonderful crimson fabric and stitched on animals of some sort.  They reminded her of the mystic creatures she had seen in her Ancient Greece books; large flying beasts and snarling dragons illuminated the cover as she ran her fingers about it.  The name Potter was etched into the center with large gothic black letters.  Pulling the ribbon (which was holding the pages closed) loose, Marcy began to flip through the first couple of pages.  A man and a woman who appeared to be about her mum's age were holding a bubbly baby with hair the color of Lily's.  Three students (two boys and a very bucktoothed girl) were wearing robes and school uniforms by a massive train.  A large wedding with tons of people eating a piece of gigantic cake that read _CUNGATULAONS!_

            Marcy probably would have thought nothing of the pictures and shrugged them off as old childhood memories had it not been for the one thing that had her jaw hitting the floor and her eyes as wide as marbles.  The pictures…each and every one…were moving.  She had blinked a couple of times to ensure it but they moved to no prevail.  The people were giggling and laughing and doing things that a regular camcorder would have captured.  Marcy began to shake slightly as she dropped the book to the floor and stood up, her eyes scanning the room.  Her arrival…the mirror…the album…it was all far too much for her to understand as she dashed to the doorway, fully intent on running away and going to that Otter Saint place that Andrew had told her about.  Marcy fumbled with the knob for a second before thrusting the door open and rushing through, only to hit something hard and fall against something soft and warm in the process.

            "Is it just my luck or do you have a habit of falling into boy's laps?" Andrew guffawed from beneath her, his light brown hair falling into his eyes as he attempted to shift beneath her.  She hadn't noticed it before, but his eyes were a very lovely shade of hazel.  They were soft and subtle as they stared at her, full of enthusiasm and humor as he attempted to shift again.

            "I don't know, maybe you and Michael enchanted me…seems I can't stay on my feet when I'm around you two." She chuckled, almost taken aback when a look of seriousness flashed through his eyes.  It quickly disappeared as he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her off of him as he stood, brushing the dust off of his clothes with ease.  She stood up on her own and began dusting off the dress, unaware of his eyes that were lingering on her, "Is there anything to do in this place?" She asked when she finished, her hands falling to her hips, the thought of running away long gone.

            "Depends on how good of an imagination you have." He whispered, grabbing her hand with his and dragging her towards the steps, "Can you believe in the unbelievable Marcy?"

            She mustered up every bit of courage she could find in her 11 year old body and puffed out her chest, smiling brightly, "Of course I can."

            "Then anything's possible." He whispered as he grabbed what looked like a broomstick from the closet and, with his hand still linked with hers, pulled her down the stairs and out into the garden.

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	5. Secret Places and Secret Names

Andrew called it his "Secret Place". The clearing was small and rested on the outskirts of the Burrow's property. The grass was a brilliant verdant color and during sunset the sun seemed to barely blink over the horizon of the few clusters of trees. The air was crisp as stars began to form in the beckoning night sky and the small pond, which lay in the center of the clearing, rippled from the wind that was gathering. Marcy smiled at Andrew as he situated himself against a small bench, his fingertips running across a few cattails that were growing at the pond's edge.

"This place is amazing." She whispered as she sat next to him, plucking her own cattail, "How did you ever find it?"

"I think my Dad, Uncle Ron, and Aunt Hermione used to come out here when they were young. He showed it to me a long time ago." He replied sadly, his eyes transfixed on the rippling water, "That was before he disappeared. We used to go fishing and play games and just talk."

"How old were you?" She asked quietly.

"Four. He left not too long after my fourth birthday."

"Why?" She asked, looking at him intently. His hazel eyes looked back at her and seemed to fill with sorrow as he tossed his cattail aside, pulling his knees into his chest instead.

"I don't know. Mum doesn't like to talk about it much and neither does Uncle Ron or Aunt Hermione. I know it had something to do with the military, which really doesn't make much sense at all since my Dad played sports. I remember him coming into my room and lifting me up onto my bed. He told me that I would be the man of the house and that I needed to take care of Mum. I couldn't let anything bad happen to her. I had to remember that he loved me." He sighed, looking at her with tears beckoning his eyes, "That was the last time I saw him." Without meaning too, Marcy reached up and wiped away a tear that began to roll down Andrew's cheek. He smiled at her, the pain that lingered behind his hazel eyes slowly subsiding.

"What about your father Marcy? You never talk about him." He murmured. Her eyes darted away from his and looked out into the horizon.

"I never knew him. At least, I never knew him well enough to remember him. Mum doesn't talk about him at all." She sighed, staring up at the newly visible stars, "I used to have silly dreams about him. I always imagined him as some sort of knight in shining armor. I used to think about him flying me about on the back of a dragon." She chuckled a bit at her own imagination as she remembered her younger years.

"Do you like to fly?" Andrew asked abruptly, catching her off guard.

"I've never been flying. Mum once tried to get me on a plane when I was seven and a fire erupted in the middle of the building. Let's just say we never were near an airport again."

"Do you want to know how?" He asked again, standing up and offering her a hand. She looked at him oddly for a second, at the hand extended to her, but almost as quickly took it and stood up. The idea behind "flying" couldn't possibly be any more out of the ordinary than the other things that had already occurred at the Burrow.

Andrew was moving across the clearing to where he had laid his broomstick. Unlike the one her mother used to use at the Highland developing community, the bristles on this broom were fine and perfectly in place. The handle was made out of mahogany and the word _Firebolt _were etched into it in beautiful gold script. Andrew smiled and held it out for her to see, "It was my Dad's. He gave it to me before he left. He was going to teach me to be one of the finest Seeker's in the country." He smiled again and slipped one leg over the handle, settling himself in the middle. When he seemed established he patted the broom and motioned for her to join him.

"It's just a broom Andrew." She laughed, moving away from him, "I though you were going to show me how to fly."

"I thought you said you believed in the unbelievable." He shot back, smirking at her, "Are you going back on that promise Marcy?" She grumbled under her breath and approached him, swatting him playfully on the shoulder before climbing onto the broom. She settled on it so her back was against his chest; one of his arms wrapped around her to secure her waist while the other held on steadily. She felt his legs kick stiffly and the next thing she knew her feet were leaving the ground. The wind was whipping at her hair and her arms were covered in gooseflesh but it didn't matter, Marcy was flying. Although they didn't leave the ground much at all, the sky was luminous and the stars seemed to call out to her even more. The air was crisp, cool, and fresh as it nipped at her lungs and tickled at her nose. Andrew was laughing behind her as he led them in small circles around the clearing.

"Andrew this is beautiful. I'm flying…" She sighed. Nothing mattered at the moment but the fact that she was enjoying herself. Her strawberry blonde hair was a mess, her sundress didn't fit properly, she had spent the last couple of days feeling like an outcast, and yet everything was perfect. Being on this broom, in this "Secret Place" was perfect.

Sadly, as soon as the moment had begun it had ended. The _Firebolt _skidded to a halt as Andrew firmly planted his feet on the ground and allowed Marcy to slide off. She smiled at him as they began to walk back towards the Burrow, hand in hand.

"Are you going to tell me how that worked?" She asked quietly as they neared the back gate to the garden. He simply smirked as he opened the gate for her and then pulled it closed behind them, allowing it to click loudly into place.

"That would ruin the affect of it Marcy. Besides…I may seem like I know a great deal…but I'm only 13. I can't be the one to explain life to you."

"Why can't you?" She asked, stopping only a few feet from the back door, "You obviously know something you aren't telling me. Wouldn't you want to know about something that important?"

"Listen Marcy…I know you want to know who you are. I know it might upset you that I know more about your life than you do. But its like my situation with my father. I know he's missing. He's been gone for 9 years and yes, he may never come back. But if I need to hear news about him, it doesn't help to hear it from a child my own age. I need my Mum to sit me down and talk to me. I need to know everything." He stopped and put his arm around her and pulled her into a small hug, "I can't tell you everything about your life Marcy. I'm sorry." Smiling one last time he pulled away from her and moved into the Burrow, leaving Marcy alone with her thoughts in the back yard.

She sunk into the nearest chair and looked up at the sky, which had turned its ebony color and was completely filled with small stars. She hadn't seen her mother or Julian in at least a week's time. A part of her missed them, a part that wanted to just go back to Manchester and continue to live as "the freak". But the other part of her, the part that had become curious of her background, the Weasley's, and Andrew, that part of her wanted to stay. That part of her wanted her mother and Julian to come to the Burrow. That part of her wanted to know who she was.

Making up her mind at last, Marcy moved into the house to find Hermione and an owl.

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To say that Hermione Weasley was flabbergasted would be the understatement of the century. Not even Ron's newfound study habits in their seventh year had been as unannounced as this was, she noted, as she watched the small girl attempt to scribble on a piece of parchment she had handed over.

She supposed it had started when Andrew had burst into the kitchen, looking rather pleasant as he strode towards Michael, who had been seated across from Hermione. He whispered something in Michael's ear and both boys had taken to their feet, muttering apologies as they bounded up the stairs. Hermione had simply shaken her head and started to clear the table when she had gotten into one of her weekly rows with her husband. She had thought that the arguments and bickering would stop when they started dating, or even when he proposed, but even after close to 11 years of marriage Ron refused to drop his temper. His circuits would always break short whenever she disagreed with him (which was plenty) and his face would turn a crimson color that only matched his unruly hair.

Of course, Marcy Malfoy had been the topic of the rows that had started within the last week. In fact, Hermione wasn't even sure what to call her, since as far as the little girl knew she was still Marcy Drummond and as far as Hermione was concerned, a girl who had lived without her father for 9 years had the right to go by a surname like Weasley. But none the less, the strawberry headed ball-of-fire (which at the time had been in the garden) was the cause of certain problems. Her mother Ginny was one of Hermione's oldest and dearest friends, the Weasley's compassion and defiance making her come off as strong hearted and devoted. Ginny, being Marcy's mother, had wanted the girl to know nothing of the world that Hermione had known of herself since her 11th birthday. Ron, the arrogant older brother he was, wouldn't stop pressing the issue and demanding that Marcy be introduced to the wizarding world. Hermione was the middle ground she supposed, and since Ginny had disappeared just the day before in a puff of magic, Ron had taken the blame out on her. He had been yelling about showing and Hogwarts when Marcy had fumbled into the kitchen, asking huffily for a piece of paper and something to write with.

Now, sitting next to her at the kitchen table, Hermione was far more than surprised to see the little girl anxiously writing away, her handwriting quite lovely for an 11 year old child. She hadn't said much other than the fact that she needed some paper, and even smiled sheepishly when Hermione handed her an elegant quill. She picked up on the writing style fairly quickly and blew across the paper to make it dry before rolling it up into a small scroll.

"I know you don't have the same type of post I do…so here." The girl stated matter-of-factly, handing the scroll over, "Do whatever it is you have to do with it…"

"Marcy…"

"Hermione, really, I'm not getting at the whole 'tell me who I am' thing right now." Marcy interrupted, giggling slightly, "I just noticed since the first day that I arrived that a post man hasn't stopped by. I haven't seen a letter box either. It's just logic." She pointed at the letter in Hermione's hand, "That's for my mum. Make sure she gets it okay?"

"Sure." Hermione replied, folding the letter and putting it into her pocket. Marcy smiled sheepishly and sank into the nearest chair, folding her hands beneath her chin. Hermione smiled as she went to the counter and retrieved a pitcher and two tumblers, placing them on the table in front of Marcy and her place setting. Marcy's nose crinkled as she went to reach for the pitcher and Hermione laughed out loud, grabbing it for her and pouring the girl a glass, "Its lemonade. I never liked Pumpkin Juice the first time I had it either." She poured herself a glass and drank it greedily, the acidity burning down her throat as she swallowed. Marcy was sipping much more daintily and holding her glass tightly, as if it was some sort of keepsake.

"Thanks." Marcy murmured before placing the glass down on the table. Hermione had never noticed the color of Marcy's eyes before, the bright cobalt blue and streaks of metallic gray were vibrant in the dim light of the kitchen. Her skin was flawless save for a small smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and her hair was a very odd color indeed. It was definitely a mix of both Ginny and Draco's. "What's wrong Hermione?"

"Nothing, just thinking to myself."

"About what?" She asked genuinely.

"You remind me of your mother." Hermione replied, placing a hand over Marcy's and changing the subject, "What about your brother Julian? Does he look like your mum?"

"Spitting image," She replied nonchalantly, "That's why I always felt like I didn't fit in at home. Mum was pretty and Julian was handsome. He had friends while I had books. He was popular and I got into petty fights." She sighed.

"I loved books too when I was little. I used to dream about reading to my child like my mother used to read to me when I was young." Hermione replied dreamily. An uneasy silence washed over them as Hermione moved the tumblers and pitcher to the sink, saying a very quiet washing charm so they would clean themselves. When she returned to the table, Marcy was staring at her oddly, "What is it?"

"Why don't you have a child Hermione?" She asked cautiously, running her fingers nervously around the edge of the table, "You're very nice. You're compassionate too. If you had such dreams about children, why didn't you have any?"

Hermione sighed as she sat down and stared at Marcy. She truly did have her mother's ability of prodding for answers, "Ron and I can't have children." She stated simply.

"Is that why you're adopting Michael?"

"No." Hermione replied, looking at Marcy intently, "We adopted Michael because his father was Ron's brother. Michael's mother and father disappeared a long time ago. Ron was Michael's godfather and we have been raising him. It's only proper that he has a true family."

"I wish I had that…"Marcy murmured as she laid her head in her hands, a small tear rolling down her freckles, "My dad disappeared I suppose. I don't remember him. Mum has never had anyone else in her life unless you include Mr. Lovegood…but he is stuffy and nowhere near good enough for her. I wish I had a father."

"Your father was a good man." Hermione replied bluntly, causing Marcy to sit up abruptly and stare at her, "Yes, I knew him fairly well. You see…well…Marcy if I tell you about your father you can't ever tell anyone." Hermione smirked, stretching out her pinky finger, "Just between us girls?" When Marcy nodded and linked pinkies with her Hermione laughed a bit before smiling, "I went to school with your father. Ron, Harry, and I were in his grade. Mind you, we were never friends. Actually…we held quite a rivalry."

"Then how did Mum meet him?" Marcy asked, thoroughly intrigued.

"Well, your mother was a grade younger than all of us. She knew your father from all of the things that we told her about him. Remember, we didn't exactly like him. But your mum was very open-minded. She rarely said anything cruel about him at all and when she did it was only because he started it. Anyway…the summer before my graduation, your mother was hired as a tutor for him. I guess you could say it was history from then on."

"But you said he was a good man." Marcy proceeded, smiling just a bit, "How could he have become a good man?"

"He fought for what he believed in. He really wasn't the type of person we had always speculated him to be at school. After school was out and he was dating your mother, we got to know him a bit better. He did some wonderful things for Ron and me and for Melinda and Andrew's father. He was a force to be reckoned with, mind you, but he was a good man." She smiled before catching sight of her watch and standing up, pulling Marcy up with you, "Now it is far past your bedtime young lady. I can't have you tired tomorrow."

"Will you promise to deliver that to my mum?" She asked as Hermione pushed her towards the stairs.

"Certainly."

"Hermione?" Marcy called back as she reached the landing, her cheeks glistening from the few tears she had shed, "What was his name?" She asked quietly, shifting back and forth in obvious nervousness.

"Draco. Draco Malfoy."

"Hermione?" She called back again.

"Honestly Marcy, stop stalling you are going to have to go to bed at sometime or another."

"I just wanted to say that I think you'll make an excellent mum." The girl dashed up the stairs before Hermione could say another word, leaving her in isolated silence. Hermione smiled to herself as she moved back into the kitchen and began to put things away, blowing out candles here and there in order to clean up for the night. It was growing late and she was tired; the next day would be strenuous at the Ministry and Neville would most likely be stopping by. Hermione had received news from Blaise Zambini about a lead in the Russian infantry and she had massive groups traveling to the east in search of survivors. As she was about to head back up the stairs Marcy's note caught her sight, the rolled up piece of parchment flickering in the moonlight. Calling over Pig (who after all the years was still as daft and flighty as ever) she began to tie it onto his talon to take to Ginny before becoming curious and opening it.

_Mum,_

_ You haven't written or even come to visit since I disappeared. I know you know where I am. You should at least, you know these people. Tell Julian not to worry (I know he will be) but I am fine. They are good people._

_ You need to visit me. You need to explain everything. The letter, the fire, my disappearance, and just about everything in this place. A part of me misses home, but the rest of me knows that what I'm looking for is here. I can't leave till I know the answers, and I need them from you. Andrew is right, I can't just learn them from anyone._

_ Hopefully when the owl delivers this (I don't really understand the idea of using owls as postmen, but I guess dogs won't go after them and they can move quicker) you'll understand that I need you to come. Hopefully you'll come immediately. Bring Julian with you…there are plenty of people for him here. Lillian and him would get along nicely. I'll still love you no matter what I find out mum. I hope you know that. I just need answers. All my life I've struggled with how different I am from you and Julian. Maybe you've known the answers all along. Maybe I'm not that odd._

_ They never really told me this, but I'm sure that Ron and Hermione say hello as well. I think they miss you. They are constantly bickering about something or other. Melinda would say hi too, but I don't know much about her either. That's why I need you._

_ Don't __Leave __Me.___

_ Your Daughter,_

_ Marcy_


	6. The Truth

            AN: IMPORTANT CHAPTER.  The order of POV goes as follows…

Ginny

Draco

Ginny

Harry

Marcy

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Ginny Weasley stood at the base of the stairs, watching her daughter saunter down quietly, her hands placed behind her back.  She looked lovely in Ginny's eyes, her hair curled just a bit and tied back in a large serpentine bow that matched her newest sundress.  Her cobalt blue eyes were vibrant in the morning sun as they lingered on Ginny's face, coming to halt just beneath her sternum as the little girl reached her side.  The two stared at each other for a few minutes, neither moving, neither speaking.  Coffee was locked on cobalt in a staring contest of will power as mother and daughter attempted to stifle the feelings of loneliness.  It was Ginny who moved first, extending a single hand to her daughter, who took it gallantly and pulled Ginny into a bear hug.  The little girl was crying softly into Ginny's jumper, whispering something about never going away again.

            "Shush dear don't cry." Ginny coaxed, running her fingers through Marcy's strawberry blonde hair, "Everything will be fine.  Come now, lets move into the kitchen."

            "But mum…." She sniffled, her nose a brilliant red color, "W-Where's Julian?"

            "I would guess upstairs, getting some sleep.  It was an awfully long drive from Manchester." She smiled a bit, pulling her daughter along, "Besides, Julian and I can talk later…right now there are some things I need to discuss with you."

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            Maybe it was the fact that he hadn't seen the Burrow in over 9 years.  Maybe it was the fact that his whole life had felt lost before he had stumbled over the Bullstrode's doorstep, knocking into a very annoyed muggle boy who apparently was Millicent's son.  Or maybe it was the fact that he had just seen Ginny trotting up the cobblestone walk with a boy that couldn't be older than nine.

            She was more beautiful than he had remembered.  As she had stepped from what appeared to be a taxi he had gotten a glimpse at her face, at the smattering of freckles that contrasted brilliantly against her snow white skin.  Her copper hair was swaying just slightly in the wind as she stepped out and pulled her jumper tight about her body, which was still extremely curvy and perfectly the right size.  But it was the tiny boy attached to her hand that had caught his attention the most.

            His hair was curly and puffy about his head, a color that resembled his mothers as he trembled at her side.  Draco could barely see the boy's eyes, but even from his hiding place behind a large stone wall he could see the darkness that they held.  It was his son…his boy…

            Maybe that was what was holding him here.  Ginny and the boy had disappeared into the Burrow hours ago, leaving Draco with his thoughts behind the stone wall.  He wanted to go inside.  He hadn't traveled halfway across Russia and then across most of Europe to sit on the ground and await Ginny to realize he was there.  She never would anyway.  But something was holding him back.  For a minute he had thought that he might have stopped loving her, but another look in the direction of the Burrow had confirmed with a pang that indeed…he still loved her.  Loved her painfully so.  So much that it had finally hit him why he couldn't stand to see his son.

            As far as he could see from behind the scraps of stone, the boy had seemed content.  So had Ginny for that matter, walking briskly up the cobblestones as if nothing were different.  Had she forgotten about him?  Were their lives better off without him?

            "Draco?" A voice mumbled from beside him, drawing his attention from the door.  Harry had grown profusely when the Bullstrode's had helped to heal him, putting on much needed weight and gaining back the power that had once rested behind his emerald eyes.  He was smiling just a bit, staring off at the garden in the back, his ebony hair blowing in the wind, "What's wrong?" He asked distantly.

            "Is anything right?" Draco asked forlornly, his eyes dwelling on his trainers, "You saw Ginny…she didn't even…"

            "Notice you were there?  Draco don't become soft on me, she wouldn't have known you were there in a million years and you know it." Harry sighed, pointing off into the distance, "This is your home.  This is her home.  She's here…your family's here, everything's here.  You might be right in thinking she forgot you.  But it wasn't too many days ago that you taught _me _that you can't just assume things." Harry pulled him to his feet before moving from behind the stone, "You need to make sure."

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            "Marcy…"

            "Mum don't try to play this off as anything less than the truth." Marcy butted in, slamming her glass of lemonade down on the table.  She had been sitting with her mother for at least an hour at the table, talking over lemonade and pumpkin juice of Marcy's last week and life at the Highland developing community.  Julian had spent most of his time with his friends and bickering over Marcy's return while her mother had spent most of hers at the hospital.  Her mother had been delighted to hear that she was learning to play chess and had also grown to like Andrew and Michael.  More than delighted, she thought for a brief moment, by the few seconds of twinkle in her mother's eyes.  But when she had attempted to change the subject and Marcy had stopped her, the twinkle was replaced by a look of extreme stress.

            "Marcy…you must understand why I hesitate to change things.  I hesitate about flipping your world upside down.  On introducing you to…everything that you don't know."

            "Please!" She yelled a bit too loudly, shaking the table.  Her mother sighed a bit before nodding her head.

            "Your different my dear." She started, folding her hands together, "I must ask you not to interrupt me for this might be a bit hard to understand.  You see Hermione, Ron, I…we're all different.  There is a gene that runs in the blood of a select group of people.  It started years ago in the Middle Ages and has become an amazing establishment today.  It's hidden to the naked eye, you see…but it really is amazing.  You see Marcy…I'm a witch."  Marcy sucked in a deep gulp of breath as her eyes became wide, "I went to a school, an amazing school…called Hogwarts.  I learned everything to do with magic.  I met your father at school and we fell in love and had you.  You see Marcy…because he is a wizard and I'm a witch…you're a witch as well.  That's why you could make that letter burst into flame.  That's why you disappeared from the house and ended up here.  This was my house when I was younger, probably the only place that you could find the answers you were looking for."  
            "But why….why didn't you tell me?"

            "Just because one is a wizard, my love, doesn't mean that our race is invulnerable to danger.  You see before you were born, before I was even born, a horrible despicable man named Tom Riddle who killed innocent people for no reason roamed the lands.  He would be brought to justice when I was around 18, but his followers would never disappear.  They had their own plans for the future, as he liked to put it sometimes.  One of these men was your father's father.  He was evil and despicable as well and traveled to Romania to cause destruction in the Romanian Ministry.  Your father went off to war when you were two in order to bring his father down, and yet he disappeared." A small tear rolled down her skin, falling with a soft plop in her pumpkin juice, "I ran from the wizarding world Marcy.  I know, it wasn't fair to you or your brother.  You both deserved a chance to get to know about your culture and who you are.  But I couldn't handle it.  I couldn't handle knowing that this place was filled with that amount of evil.  I just…couldn't.  I hope you understand that."

            It took a few moments, as Marcy stared down into her lemonade her cobalt eyes wide with wonder, for her to respond.   She looked up at her mother, at the woman who had raised her for the past 11 years.  She had been taught that she was different, that she was a "freak" who enjoyed books too much and found Ancient Egypt far too interesting.  She had been ridiculed and told to "deal with it" because of her offsetting hair and eyes.  And yet, even after all of that, Marcy couldn't turn her mother away.  She nodded as she curled herself up around her legs, resting her chin in the crevice of her knees.

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            Harry Potter had moved from behind the stone wall in the front to the courtyard behind some of the larger shrubbery in the backyard.  Draco had remained, not even noticing Harry's departure from his perch.  He had seemed awfully content just staring at the Burrow's front door and contemplating between entering and staying in the shadows.  Harry had ventured into the backyard to see what had changed over the years and was surprised to see the normal row of tiny plants gone.  Instead the land had been leveled and large poles with hoops stood on each end of the yard.  In the air, he could just make out the pattern of 6 people buzzing about on broomsticks.  One on each end he realized were the Keepers while the other four were playing the position of Chaser.  His heart thumped in his chest as he realized just how much he had missed Quidditch, the universal sport of the Wizarding World.  He hadn't caught a Snitch since he had played for Puddlemere almost 9 years ago, and here he was watching a game from the shrubbery of a courtyard.

            One of the teams must have called a break because three much winded players landed with a thump in the middle of the field, laughing gallantly with each other.  Harry recognized two of them immediately, the bushy hair of one and the red locks of the other giving them away instantaneously.  He wasn't sure when Hermione had learned to fly, but based on her bright crimson cheeks and flyaway hair she had become quite good at it.  Ron looked the same as he always had, his lanky build making him stand out absurdly against the greenery of his surroundings.  Ron smiled at Hermione and pulled her into a hug, putting his free arm around the boy he had landed with.  The boy had hair the color of mud that hung about his head and skin that looked sun kissed.  Harry could barely tell his pupils from the rest of his eyes as the three people moved past his shrub and over to a girl who was seated on a swing, smiling sheepishly.

            The girl made Harry's eyes well with tears and his heart jump into his throat.  She had hair…hair the same color as his…and emerald eyes that were shaped like almonds.  She was tiny, barely bigger than the swing itself, and her face was caught in a pucker as she chewed on her thumb.  In her lap was the Quidditch ball case the Weasley's must have owned for it seemed ancient and it almost towered above her.  Hermione, Ron, and the unknown boy were moving towards her as she snapped the lid open and grabbed at the Snitch.  Harry could hear Ron groan loudly as she giggled and opened her hand, allowing the Golden Snitch to fly into the sky in a whirlwind of sunlight.  Harry, however, could see it perfectly and before he could change his mind he was running across the lawn towards Ron's discarded broom.  He heard Hermione gasp from behind him and someone call his name but he jumped on the broom regardless and took to the sky in search of the Snitch.

            He could see it, dead in front of him, and he picked up speed as best he could.  Ron's Cleensweep was rather old and stalled in the air a bit, making Harry have to lean forward immensely to get the force he wanted.  The Snitch was only a few inches from him as he extended a lone hand towards it, his fingers reaching to curl around the ball's tiny wings.  Suddenly a large gust of wind came from his right as a boy on a broom went flying past him, grabbing the Snitch in the process and stopping promptly on his left flank.

            "That's how you catch a Snitch." The boy laughed, tossing it in his right hand.  Harry gulped as he slowed himself down and took a good look at the boy, whose puffy light brown hair was blowing in the breeze.  Behind him a woman with light skin and a gorgeous smile was guarding one of the hoops, staring oddly back at Harry.  The boy's eyes locked on Harry's and his jaw went slack as he dropped the Golden Snitch, allowing it to fly through the air once again.

            "D-Dad?" He stuttered.

            "Hello Andrew." Harry replied shakily, looking over the boys shoulder and shouting, "Hello to you too Melinda," before his entire world went black.

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            Marcy was surprised that a real conversation, not one swarming with lies and melodrama, was actually occurring between her mother and herself.  After the initial awkwardness of the situation had expired, her mother had gone on to tell Marcy about all of her pastimes at Hogwarts.  She learned of her troublesome temper and how she had spent a good deal of her time in detention for meddling with boys.  She learned of her father, who had been quite a trouble maker himself years ago.  She also learned of this Tom Riddle character and of the peril that he had set upon her mother and family when they were young.  The more she got to learn of the Wizarding World the more she liked it.  Her anger that had first erupted when she had learned of her mother's secrecy had slowly ebbed away over their conversation. 

At the moment, as Marcy stared off into space, her mother was showing her a rather large portfolio of cards. It was Ron's supposedly and contained all 101 Famous Wizard trading cards.  Each card had a different wizard on it, inscribed with information about their accomplishments as well as the things they enjoyed to do.  Some of the pictures were missing, something Marcy had learned that day to be "common" in her mother's world, for no one could "expect a person to sit around in a picture all day".  The table itself, other than holding this portfolio of cards, was covered in various sweets that her mother had shown her.  There were Chocoballs full of strawberry mousse and Chocolate Frogs that really bounced about the table.  She had grabbed one and bitten off its head, sucking on the delicious gooey globs in her mouth, as her mother extracted a very long piece of wood that resembled a wand and (with a swish) made it all disappear.

            "Mum I wasn't done…" She grumbled through a mouthful.

            "Marcy dear, there is something we haven't discussed yet." Her mother replied, almost in a scorning tone, "Have you forgotten what I've told you about Hogwarts?"

            "No Mum, I was paying attention.  You said that it was your school…the school that Ron, Hermione, Harry, you, and dad attended."

            "I meant the fact that it is a **school** my dear." Her mother started again, her face growing very serious, "It starts accepting witches and wizards when they turn 11 years old."  Marcy grew quiet for a minute; the only noise reverberating from the kitchen was the ticking of the clock behind her mother's head.  She stuck out her tongue for a second to lick her lips before nodding for her mother to continue, "As you know, you just recently turned 11 and you are allowed to go to school.  It's where Andrew and Michael go."

            "Oh Mum are you telling the truth?  I can go to school with Andrew and Michael?  Are you being real?  This is so…"

            "Marcy wait.  Dear, you must understand something.  I…I don't wish to involve myself in the Wizarding World just yet dear.  It…it would be far too difficult.  You must understand that as I tell you this.  Either you attend school and live here…in the Burrow…or you come home to Manchester with Julian and me."  Marcy grew quiet again as the joy that had taken over her quickly disappeared.  Her mother was making her chose between her family and the school that was beckoning her.  She wanted both but she couldn't have both because her mother wouldn't make the sacrifice of change.  Marcy knew that Hogwarts would be a wonderful place to receive an education, but deep in her heart she knew her own limitations and that, as a young girl, she needed her mother.  A small tear trickled down her face as the reality of a dream taken away washed over her and she stood up angrily, tossing the last bit of the chocolate frog onto the table.

            Marcy made a race for the front door without turning back.  The door, however, opened in front of her and a large man sent her toppling to the ground in a thump of pain.  He seemed taken aback as well, for she could feel him staring at her.  When Marcy finally could feel her elbow (which had taken the brunt of the fall) and was able to open her eyes again, she was surprised to see the man standing over her was crying.  He had beautiful eyes for a man, she realized, which were the most intriguing combination of metallic gray and silver.  His hair was hanging down, almost as long as Ron's, and was the color of snow as it shined in the slight sunlight.  It was his smile that caught her eye though, for it wasn't the unusually bright smile of most folks in England.  It was slightly forlorn and was almost crumbling apart but was still stern and…and something she had seen before.  Her eyes began to fill with tears as she looked behind her at her mother, who was standing stiffly where she had once been seated, her chair knocked on the floor.

            Everything seemed to move in slow motion as the man's eyes lit up and he bent down to pick Marcy up off the floor.  She looked at him for a moment, at the way his awkwardly large hand fit across hers and the way his lips seemed to curl upwards as he studied her face.

            "Dad?" She choked as he pulled her into a hug, and even the pitter patter of her mother's feet as she ran up the stairs couldn't stop the smile that embraced Marcy's face as she sobbed tears of joy into her long lost father's shoulder.

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AN2: This chapter covers a lot. I think it shows the most of Marcy's character by her ability to accept things…between her exposure to the Wizarding World and her father's reappearance.  I wonder what handsome young 13 year old taught her that? Yes…there is something happening between her and Andrew…that is my major scheme…even though it will only really show up in an epilogue chapter.

This story won't be much longer…it is simply going to express the following…

1) How Harry settles things with his family

2) How Draco settles things with his family

3) What Marcy does in regards to Hogwarts

4) An Epilogue


	7. Albums and Golden Snitches

            AN: I don't feel like making another disclaimer cause you should know it by now…this work is just based loosely off of JKR and I am getting nothing but self-pride by writing it.

            AN2:This story will flip back and forth between Harry and Draco's POV.

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Draco hadn't seen the room since the day he had left well over 9 years ago.  It was relatively small for a bedroom, like most of the room's in the Burrow, and was draped in a sheer painting of sunny yellow color.  Unlike Ron's old room which was awkward and overly bright, this room was calming and sweet and touched a tender side in Draco's unusually black heart.  The bed was pushed up against the wall and the one window projected a dimly colored night sky through its cotton colored drapes.

            It had been their room.  His and Ginny's, back when there was such a thing, and he had expected her to retreat to its solace when he had walked through the front door.  It was the only room in the Burrow that hadn't been changed over the years.  Ron's room had become Lillian's, Fred and George's old room had become Andrew's, Charlie and Bill's had become Michael's, and Percy's had become Melinda's.  But Ginny's room…their room…had always remained untouched.  He assumed, as he watched his wife sob pitifully into a light tartan pillow, the room had remained as her one memory of their past.

            He crossed the room to stand beside her, unsure if it would be appropriate to sit beside her.  He had sent Marcy out into the yard shortly after their encounter in the foyer, telling her that he needed some time to talk things over with Ginny.  The girl had nodded exuberantly and skipped off smiling, the once shed tears only evident on the floor in front of the door. Draco had been slightly surprised by her reaction to him; the way she had gripped him into a hug and simply cried joyously was overwhelming.  No one had ever been that happy to see him in his entire life.

            No one except Ginny.  He remembered every bit of their relationship, even the parts that were still slightly befuddled with anger and hatred, and he remembered perfectly the times when she would simply hold him and tell him that she loved him.  He remembered the look she had given him on Harry's 17th birthday, the way her eyes had filled with emotion as he pulled her aside and told her to give his pitiful excuse for redemption a second chance.

            "Ginny." He whispered, making up his mind to sit beside her.  Her back immediately tensed as the mattress sunk a bit from his weight and he laid a very gentle hand across the middle, rubbing his fingers across the fabric of her back carefully.  Her breathing had grown lighter and her sobs were quieter but the air was heavy with tension as he simply sat near her, saying nothing at all.

            She flipped suddenly, her stomach becoming the pathway of his fingers and her eyes locking on his.  They were puffy but still vibrantly coffee colored as they stared at him, as if searching him for something.  Her hair was flamboyant, almost like a fire colored halo, about her head.  In Draco's mind, she was nothing short of stunning, "I see Marcy noticed you." She said tersely, her lips curling into a slight frown.

            Draco hadn't been expecting that answer.  His brow puckered together, "What do you mean?" He asked briskly, "I didn't even think she would recognize me.  She was so young…"

            "She stole a picture from my room in Manchester when she was about 7." Ginny replied mundanely, "She's carried it with her for forever.  Maybe she simply memorized your face."

            "Ginny…what's wrong?" He asked calmly, catching the hitch in her voice.

            "You've been gone for 9 years Draco." She started through gritted teeth, pushing his hand that had been drawing lazy circles on her stomach away from her, "9 years without a single letter, a single notice that you were alive and fine."

            "I was imprisoned most of the time!" He yelled a bit before lowering his voice as her eyes scorned him, "Even when I wasn't, I couldn't write anyone.  Neither could Harry.  I couldn't give up our position…"

            "So your position meant more to you than keeping in touch with your family?" She asked through bit back tears, her eyes swelling a bit and her cheeks flushing crimson, "Draco…you've missed out on everything.  You've missed out on Marcy's first showing, you've missed out on her first trip to school, and you've missed out on her first Hogwarts letter.  Hell you missed your son being born!  Did you even know you had a son?"

            He went to reply but she cut him short, sitting up abruptly on the bed, "You've missed everything in your children's lives, in _my _life and you just up and assume you can walk back in and everything will be the same!" She yelled, getting flustered as tears began to flow down her cheeks.  She wiped at them angrily, muttering something about not wanting to cry under her breath.

            "Ginny…everything will be okay…we can…"

            "We can't do anything Draco!" She yelled again, pounding her fists against his chest as she stood from the bed, "I thought you were fucking dead.  Blaise Zambini gave me control of your mother's account because he thought you were dead.  I…I can't believe you think you can just stride back into my life.  I…no _we_… were doing fine without you!" She screamed again before, as if coming to her senses, stopping abruptly and running from the room.  Draco could hear the pitter patter of feet dashing up a flight of stairs and the very loud bang of a door above him, sending the ghoul that lived across the hall pounding on the drainpipes.  He fell back against the bed, allowing himself to become absorbed into the tartan pillows and the smell of Ginny's shampoo.

            Through blistering tears that had finally drained from his eyes, Draco mumbled, "Welcome Home" bitterly before falling into a terrible sleep.

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            Harry had awoken on the ground, his hands lying in the soft green grass of the homemade pitch and his glasses askew.  From the hot air that was hovering above his face he presumed that people were huddled about him, a few whispering excitedly.  He could hear Ron, repeatedly yelling "Blimey" as he paced back and forth by his right side while Hermione (whose footsteps were much lighter) was attempting to shush him.

            Harry opened his eyes just slightly.  The sun was bright as he stared upwards at his son, who happened to be looking directly at him.  The boy's eyes, which were hazel, were very bright.  It appeared (by the bustling around him) that he was the only one to realize that Harry was really awake and had, for whatever reason, decided to not tell those around him.  He was smiling just a bit, almost cockily, and he was throwing the Golden Snitch between his hands.

_Silly boy, has to go and prove himself by catching it anyway._

_Merlin knows I would have done the same thing at his age._

            It seemed Ron had noticed he was awake because he was yelling again and pulling at Harry's arms to move him up.  He was pulled into an immediate hug by Ron and Hermione.  Hermione seemed to be crying and Ron was punching his back roughly.  Harry (after readjusting his glasses) looked to the ground where Ron's Cleansweep lay in pieces, a look of sorrow crossing over his face.

            "Sorry about the broom mate." Harry laughed a bit, crossing to it, "I'll buy you another one."

            "Don't worry Harry, Ron can get a new one." Hermione interjected, throwing him a happy smile, "The broom was the least of our worries.  If it wasn't for Mel…well I don't know who else would have been able to react fast enough to keep you from hitting the ground when you blacked out."

            Harry gulped as he turned in the direction of his wife, who was tending to the little girl by the swing.  She refused to look his way, even as Ron shouted for her, causing Harry's insides to burn as he became dizzy again.

            "Dad are you alright?" Andrew asked, grabbing hold of his arm, "Do you need to sit down or anything?"

            "N-No I'm fine…"  Ron and Hermione looked at each other and moved away, grabbing the darker skinned boy by the collar and dragging him with them.  Andrew moved Harry to the chairs beside the chess set and allowed him to sit, pulling up the chair beside him.

            "Mum will be okay." The boy reassured him, placing a loving hand on his knee, "She was surprised to see you.  I wouldn't blame her you know.  Didn't know you would ever….you know…"

            "Yeah I know son."  Harry said simply, running a hand through his hair, "I never meant to…"

            "Leave us?" Andrew asked calmly, looking back at him as if it wasn't the first time he had seen the older man in 9 years, "I know Dad.  I promised you I'd take care of everyone.  I did just that.  I never thought you weren't coming back." He stopped and looked over to where the girl was swinging and where Melinda was standing, "You told me that you would always love me.  I never forgot you know.  I always remembered."

            Harry moved from his seat and pulled his son to his feet, embracing him in a loving hug.  They boy seemed to start crying into his shoulder, his 13 year old body rippling beneath Harry's fingertips as he patted the boy's back affectionately.  He sniffed as he pulled away, running a finger across the edge of his hazel eyes and into his puffy brown hair.  He pointed to the swing, to where Melinda was standing, and ushered Harry off.

            Harry approached carefully and quietly.  Melinda was more gorgeous than his dreams had given her credit for and she looked radiant underneath the tree that the small dark haired girl was swinging from.  He remembered the way they had stood beneath the Eiffel Tower with the rest of the Weasley's, her body fitting gently against his as he hugged her tightly.  He remembered when Andrew was born, how happy he had felt for the first time in his life.  He remembered the feeling that had filled his chest the first time he had ever seen her in her wedding gown, gliding down the isle towards him.  Everything had been perfect.  Hell, she was perfect.

            He was surprised that, when she turned around, her face was lacking the animosity or rejection he was expecting.  Her eyes were dark but full of love and her body was shivering just a bit from the tears that were beckoning them.  He began to run towards her and she ran at him, her arms engulfing him when they reached each other and he threw her into the air.  Her chin found his shoulder and his fingers found her hair as he mumbled countless I love you's into her ear.

            "Oh Harry." She breathed out as he finally pulled away from her, "I thought…I just thought…"

            "Don't think." He whispered as he cupped her face in his hands, "Just know that I'd never leave you.  You're everything."  He kissed her soundly then, not caring who was watching at the moment other than her, and everything about her.  He didn't see the small girl, who was still sucking on her thumb, approach the couple and stare up at them through confused young eyes.

            "Harry…" Melinda mumbled (breaking from the kiss) pointing down at the girl that was hugging her legs before picking her up in her arms, "This is Lillian, Lillian Gemma Potter.  Say hi Lillian, this is your daddy."

            The girl chewed thoughtfully as Harry approached her, casually leaning out his right hand to stroke her midnight colored hair.  Suddenly, she let out a yelp and kicked her mother, causing her to fall to the ground effectively.  She took off across the Burrow lawn, sprinting as far away from Harry as possible and into the house.  His heart seemed to drop into his stomach as he looked at Melinda, who seemed unaffected by the whole ordeal.  When she noticed the glare in his eye she laughed a bit, pulling him into a large hug and wrapping herself underneath his arm.

            "Don't think much of Lillian." She replied quietly, moving them towards the Burrow, "She has always been slightly…timid.  Must have gotten that from my side of the family.  She rarely talks at all, quite sad for an 8 year old, and I'm honestly not surprised that she ran from you."  She shushed his next words with a kiss as they moved inside.  Despite the fact that his daughter, the little girl he hadn't known had existed, had run from him, Harry felt more content than he had ever felt in his entire life, maybe even more than he did while flying.  Smiling to himself and promising himself to work on Lillian the following day, he continued to walk with his wife and pulled his son (whose side he had reached) underneath his arm.

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            Draco watched his son attempt to lift a very large photo album into his lap.  It was tied with a ribbon and the word _Memories _was etched into the cover, making it shimmer a bit in the simple candle light of the sitting room.  The 9 year old was having a rather difficult time pulling the book into his lap, which appeared to be about twice his size and double his weight.  Draco laughed as the album tumbled to the floor and his son let out a very annoyed gurgle.  Moving towards him, Draco extended a hand forward and picked up the album with ease, handing it to him.

            "Here, I know it's heavy." He smiled simply and moved to the squishy sofa across from the boy, folding his arms about his one knee.  The boy simply smirked and opened the album slowly; letting is fingers run across the gold embossed pages and beautiful pictures.  Draco remembered the book rather fondly, it was the first gift ever given to him at his Bachelor party.  Colin Creevy had designed it, even down to the very last picture, and it contained almost every Weasley or Malfoy memory the man ever recorded.  Funny it was, he thought, finding such an heirloom now.  However, a slight intake of breath in front of him drove him from his stupor, his glassy metallic eyes focusing on the boy in front of him.

            "They move." The boy whispered, pointing at the picture on the first page.  Draco laughed and moved across to where he was sitting.  The picture he was pointing to was a memorable one in deed.  It was of the Hogwarts Express during Draco's 7th year.  Ginny, Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Neville were smiling brightly and waving at the picture.  In the corner you could see the picture form of Draco, watching the group with sad eyes and pacing back and forth.  Picture Ginny looked over her shoulder a few times and even her eyes couldn't mask her displeasure of not having him in the picture.  Draco smiled a bit as he ran his finger over Ginny, who seemed rather annoyed and moved out of the way, "You're on there…"

            "I'm Draco." He whispered lightly as the boy moved over and gave him room on the couch.  He slipped into the seat and allowed the album to slide across his knees as the boy continued to look at the pictures.

            "I'm Julian.  You're my dad aren't you?" He asked casually, never looking up.

            "Julian…you don't have to…"

            "I don't have to what?  Talk to you?  You seem nice enough." The boy shrugged, allowing his head to fall on Draco's shoulder as he yawned loudly, "Will you tell me about the pictures?" He asked, changing the subject.

            Draco merely smiled and began to do just that, explaining everything from Potion's classes to Quidditch to the Yule Ball.  He pointed out some of the finer parts of his wedding and even the blissful second honeymoon in Paris.  The final picture was of him and Ginny, sitting leisurely on a summit with a picnic basket spread out about them.  It was the only muggle picture in the entire book, he noticed, as the smiling Ginny in the picture didn't move and the wind didn't blow in the trees behind them.  Draco's arm was wrapped around Ginny's growing belly and her hand was encased with a little girl that seemed no older than 2 years.  Draco felt a silent tear begin to roll down his cheek as he went to open his mouth, despite the fact that no words came out.

            "He's asleep." A soft voice rang out from the doorway to the kitchen, its suppleness breaking the lingering silence of the sitting room.  Looking down, Draco realized that Julian truly was asleep, his eyelashes fluttering from his equal breathing and his auburn colored hair frazzled across Draco's shoulder.  He smiled simply and moved the boy, allowing him to lay across the couch alone as Draco stood.  He summoned a blanket from the couch across from him and allowed it to drape across Julian, who immediately curled into a tiny ball.

            "He's beautiful." Draco murmured, moving towards Ginny.

            "He is isn't he?" She asked, barely taking her eyes off of him, "He is bubbling for a nine year old.  He speaks up a lot for his sister and usually hides things from me.  He doesn't accept defeat and is quite popular."  She softened for a bit as Draco approached her and he was almost certain he heard her mumble the words _like his father._

            "Gin…"

            "Draco do you know why I named him Julian?" She asked, flippantly ignoring him, "You told me that story of your mother.  She met a man named Julius Morterer didn't she?"

            "Yes." He grumbled, not wishing to discuss his mother at the moment.

            "He was her first love." She whispered, "I suppose I owe her stories a lot.  Without them…without her persistence…I wouldn't have Julian."

            "Gin…"  
            "You would have made a good father." She whispered again, still refusing to look him in the eye, "They would have loved you.  Julian would have learned to be an amazing Seeker and become as great at Potion's as you are.  Marcy might not be so quiet all the time..."

            "I still can be." He shot back at her, attempting to keep his temper from sparking, "They're my kids Ginny.  I love them."

            "You left."

            "I promised I'd come back.  I did.  Damn Ginny, I had to go away don't you understand that?  Isn't keeping my promise to always love you enough?  You never gave up on me, not even in those tough times the summer we got together, not even when I acted like my bloody father….why are you giving up on me now?" He asked.  When she was silent he moved to her and cupped her chin in his hands, forcing her to look into his eyes, "I love you Ginny.  I always will.  I want to be back in your life.  I know I can't make up 9 years…damn I've thought about that everyday since I went to Russia…but Merlin help me if he thinks I'm not going to try my hardest to be with you.  I can't imagine life without you.  That's what kept me going in Murmansk, just the thought of you.  The thought of this…" He pushed his hand into her hair and coiled his fingers in the tresses, "…and everything about you.  About _us._  Hell Ginny, I know you've gotten along just fine without me.  I could leave…"

            "Draco…"

            "Let me finish." He said sternly, running his fingers about her lips, "I could leave.  I could walk out that door right now and never look back.  I could leave you and the kids behind and forget about it." He sighed, staring at her lips, which were full and pink toned, "But I don't think I could live with myself if I ever lost you."

            Her eyes begin to fill with tears before he lightly pressed his lips to hers.  She hesitated a minute before allowing him in, allowing him into her heart that had been closed for far too long.  In a spurt of passion he lifted her off her feet and into his arms, making his way towards the bedroom that he had only visited that afternoon.

            Neither Ginny nor Draco, wrapped up in there passion, noticed the smiling form of a young nine year old from the couch behind them.  Julian wrapped his fingers into the blanket that covered him, engulfing himself in the woodsy smell of hand made linens and the perfect picture of his redheaded mother and metallic eyed father.

            Julian's eyelids slipped closed as the midnight bell finally rung, the last image in his eyes being of his family, finally together.

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AN: Okay! A few things before I close this up:

YEP THEY ARE HOME AND EVERYTHING'S SETTLED. It seems as if Draco conquered his issues when it came to his family through some tenderness and Harry (although he won over Melinda) will need to work a bit to keep his daughter.  (A great model of this daughter/father strife is also really well portrayed in the movie the Patriot).  The following chapter will FINALLY post the reason why this story is R rated (mixture of some romance and some language) as well as what Marcy decides in regards to her Hogwarts stay. The most important thing comes from this next update…I am going to New York for 3 weeks over the summer. I promise to work on this, Rings, and my next story in creation during that time.  I can't guarantee any posts while I'm gone, but the chapters will be created, edited, and ready for print when I get home. Happy summer! 


	8. Families

            Marcy fiddled a bit with the bathing suit Melinda had brought her from some room upstairs.  It fit a bit awkwardly and the dark forest green color made her hair stand out very vividly.  It bunched a bit near her stomach because it was too large and then hung too low near her chest.  But it was nice to wear in the warm weather as she sat with Andrew, who was clad in just a pair of swimming trunks.  The sun was high in the air above the pond and "The Secret Place", save for the slight breeze through the surrounding trees, was deathly silent.

            Marcy had asked Andrew to take her there when she had seen Julian quietly sleeping on the couch.  Her mother and her father were no where to be found and it seemed a good enough time to run away.  Running to a place on the property probably wasn't her most imaginative plan but it had worked thus far and she was content simply lying in the grass next to Andrew.  He hadn't said much since they had arrived at "The Secret Place" and she was glad at first.  While at times she didn't enjoy the quiet, she simply needed to think.

            Maybe things could be different now that her father had returned.  She had been extremely irritated when her mother had said that she would have to choose between school and her family.  She was even more irritated when her mother dashed up the stairs and refused to talk to her father…a man that could possibly bring peace to their troubled world.  Marcy wasn't to sure how things were going to work out or if her mother was still going to make her decide.  She knew she didn't want to; picking between her family and a school where she might actually fit in was the worst decision of her entire 11 years.

            Rolling over, Marcy looked at Andrew intensely, "Do you like it there?" She asked, not bothering to be more informative.

            "I love it." He said simply, staring up into the sky, "The professors are all really nice, except maybe Professor Snape but he's an ugly git, and you make friends really fast.  I play on the House Team…just like my dad…same position too.  You meet a lot of really cool people."

            "Is it worth abandoning my family for?" She asked quietly, moving to sit beside him.  It was nice when he put his arm around her and she sunk into it, allowing his earthy sent to fill her nose as she heard his breathing settle a bit.

            "No." He said simply at first, making her heart drop.  She looked up at him and noticed he had something else to say so she held back her comment, "But Marcy, you wouldn't be abandoning your family.  You are supposed to be a witch…it's in your blood…and going to one of those barmy Muggle schools isn't going to do you any good.  Your family is abandoning you by making you choose, not the other way around." He kissed her forehead lightly, something she wasn't expecting, and flashed a wide toothy 13 year old grin, "Besides…I won't have any ickle first years to pick on if you don't come."

            "What year will you be?" She asked quietly.

            "Fourth.  Uncle Ron always refers to that as the 'Year he won Aunt Hermione over' but she usually just laughs at him so I think he's just messing around.  Supposedly good stuff happened years ago, but I doubt it will happen again.  I'm guessing Gryffindor will win the House Cup."

            "You're in Gryffindor?"

            "Of course I am!" He responded with a look of shock, as if she should have known all along, "Uncle Ron, Aunt Hermione, my dad, and your mum were all in Gryffindor.  It's a family thing I think…since both my dad's mum and dad were in Gryffindor also.  Mum didn't go to Hogwarts, she went somewhere else, but that doesn't matter.  I bet you'll be in Gryffindor too, although you have some Slytherin in you." He poked at her and made her jump before wrapping her in his arms again.

            "Are you going to pay attention to me there?" She asked, wishing she hadn't said it the minute it escaped her mouth.  She was always doing that, saying things without thinking them through.  His face screwed up a bit as he looked down on her, almost in mock confusion, "I mean…if I go." She added, attempting to remedy the situation.

            "Of course I will." He smiled a bit and gave her a large hug before standing up and stretching a bit, looking warily at the pond, "Want to learn how to really fly?" He asked.  She moved towards him (he had walked closer to the pond) and looked around.  His broomstick wasn't around at all…how was he going to make her fly?  Could people in the wizarding world actually fly?

            Her question was answered as he bent and picked her up into his arms, her fingers immediately wrapping around his neck and coiling into the soft tuffs of his hair.  He smiled at her, spun around a bit, and screamed FLY before throwing her into the pond.  The splash was loud in her ears as she fell into the rather chilly water.  It was odd, she could hear his laughter from above the water as she swam about (she had always considered herself a rather decent swimmer) and then sprang up, splashing him with water rather sloppily as payback.

            "Well if you insist." He quipped before jumping in on top of her, bringing about hours of well deserved laughter and forgetfulness of true troubles.

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            Harry Potter smiled down at his wife from his perch on the hilltop.  She was leaning into his chest and her breathing had leavened out a bit as her fingers traced random designs into his palm.  He had watched Andrew run off earlier but he hadn't stopped him, he was probably going to be with Marcy.  Harry had seen the look in Andrew's eyes, the same look he had watched flicker around Ron for more than 7 years.  The same look he always gave Mel whenever he had the chance.

            She had accepted him so genuinely that Harry had to continuously pinch himself to insure it wasn't a dream.  From Ron's words, the exchange between Draco and Ginny hadn't gone nearly as well.  Both Julian and Marcy had accepted Draco graciously and they had simply been bubbling over with joy for their returning father figure.  For some odd reason, Ginny had pushed him away.  She never was one to be logical about her decisions.

            Harry took a glance at the swing and sighed.  Lillian was moving ever so slowly back and forth, her thumb tightly in her mouth and her eyes glued to her small shoes.  She hadn't spoken to him or anyone for that matter, since his arrival.  It was odd, for he was used to people speaking to him, even Ron had bounded at him with a hug (any Weasley knew that Ron was the most temperamental).  But she was his little girl, and he needed her.

            Melinda sighed as she rolled off of Harry and turned to look up at him, smiling brightly, "Are you and Andrew doing alright?" She asked sweetly.  He simply nodded, Andrew wasn't the problem in his mind, "I know that look." She replied quietly, causing him to shift his gaze directly onto hers as she held her head up with her hands.

            "Mel..."

            "Harry she's a quiet girl.  She always has been." She started, her brow furrowing a bit, "Andrew used to tell her outlandish stories about you when they were younger.  She grew up hearing all about you, about the things you did and the way you were so marvelous and such.  I didn't want to stop him; I thought it was good for a boy his age to have such a perceptive imagination.  Soon she stopped talking.  When we moved in, she took up sitting in that swing.  She practically grew up there."

            "She should talk to someone."

            "She will when she's ready."

            "She can handle it now." He bit back a tear as he rolled so he could no longer see Melinda's eyes anymore, only the blissful color of the morning sun.

            "She's eight Harry." The woman to his left spoke sharply, her voice allowing no arguments, "She doesn't know who you are.  Hell, she doesn't know who she is.  She'll come around eventually."

            "I can't wait for bloody ever."

            "She's waited for you." Melinda said thoughtfully, "We all have.  Give her the time that we gave you."  Harry went to retort but a loud slamming door drew his attention to the Burrow where Ginny was standing with her hands on her hips.  Draco was standing in front of her, his hair a rather dumpy mess and the flush easily visible on his cheeks.

            "Ginny honestly…can't you just see where I'm coming from?" Draco murmured, trying to not draw attention to the argument they were having.  He and Harry had of course fixed their friendship to the best of their ability during their time at Murmansk, but he wasn't about to let the man watch a row between him and his wife.

            "No Draco." She said firmly, "We're going back to Manchester when the day is through."

            "She got accepted to Hogwarts Gin!  We can't just bloody well take her away from that…"

            "She's my daughter and I can do bloody well what I please." She replied, throwing his words back at him.

            "I'm her father!" He yelled, losing a bit of his self control.

            "If you had been around for the past 9 years maybe I'd care more!" She shouted back with equal fervor, her face turning a color that matched her hair.  If they weren't in the middle of an argument, Draco would have dared to call her pretty, but that was probably not recommended if he wanted to salvage anything of their marriage.  She started to move away but he stuck out a hand and grabbed hold of her arm, ignoring the shudder that moved through her as she tensed.

            "She deserves to go Ginny." He stated lamely.

            "She isn't going."

            "You said you would give her a fucking choice."

            "Give me what?" A rather loud voice came from his side and he looked down at his daughter, standing with her hands on her hips, her hair dripping wet from a swim in the lake and her eyes blazing from the summer sun.  Andrew was standing next to her, his hair equally damp, attempting to keep himself distant from the conversation.  Draco sighed and moved to one of the deck chairs, beckoning Marcy to follow him.  She sat directly on his lap, her green bathing suit making his knee feel slimy and warm as she prodded his shoulder again, "Give me what?"

            "Honey…you know about Hogwarts right?" Draco asked and only continued when Marcy nodded, "Do you want to go?"

            "More than anything Dad!"  She shrieked, wrapping her arms around his neck.  He should have known she would be that excited to go to Hogwarts.  Even when he was wizard born he had wanted to go to Hogwarts so badly as a youngster.  Andrew was grinning wickedly from the side of the garden and running his hands in his hair, attempting to look preoccupied, his hazel eyes gleaming with something Draco couldn't quite put a finger on.  As Marcy continued to hug him he looked up at Ginny, half expecting her face to be smattered with pride for her daughter.  Quite the contrary, it was set stony cold and she was shaking her head, her hands still on her hips.

            "Marcy, you are coming home." She said through pursed lips.

            "But Mum…it's Hogwarts…you said…"

            "That was before and this is now.  You don't need to go to that school…"

            "Mum?" She squealed, jumping off of Draco's lap in a second, "You said I could choose!  Dad?"

            "It's your mother's decision."

            "I want to go." Marcy said sternly, moving towards Andrew, "Andrew goes there.  Michael goes there.  Everything about me is there…not in Manchester."

            "You belong in Manchester dear." Ginny piped up, moving towards the door, "Now your father just got home and we are going to have a lot of…adjusting…to do at home.  Maybe when Julian gets his letter we can send you but right now just isn't the time.  Come dear, we need to be leaving."

            "I'm going to Hogwarts." She said again, not budging from her spot.

            "Marcy I am your mother."

            "And as such you should just listen to me!" She yelled angrily, her blue eyes flickering with resentment, "I don't have any friends in Manchester Mum.  I hate it there.  I hate being in a place where no one understands me.  There are people here who understand me.  People like me.  People who I really care about." She flashed Andrew a smile and he blushed a bit, moving towards the hilltop that Harry and Melinda were laying on, "I'm old enough to make my own decisions.  I'm old enough to know what's good for me.  I'm old enough to know that you and dad can fix everything without me.  You should see that the only thing that would be the 'wrong timing' would be keeping me in that bloody town."

            Ginny stopped from moving towards her daughter, her eyes lingering on the girl's frame.  Her hair was twisted about from the water around her face and her bright sapphire eyes were sparkling more than they usually did.  She looked very small next to the large manly figure of her husband and the lanky boyish figure of Andrew, but she had grown to say the least.  For the first time since she had moved away from the wizarding world, Ginny noticed what she had tried to avoid for 11 years.  Her Marcy, her baby girl, had indeed grown up.  She no longer needed Ginny's constant guidance to bring her to the right path.  She knew how to handle herself.  She knew, even more importantly, how to make her own decisions.

            She let out a sigh of defeat and threw her hands up in the air.  Marcy seemed to glow with excitement although it disappeared rather quickly as Ginny moved to the door, "You can stay.  Hermione and Ron can set you up a proper room when they get around to it.  Draco, we need to pack."

            "You're…you're leaving?" Marcy asked, a slight hitch in her voice.  Ginny turned around and gave Draco a very stern look.  Taking the hint, he stood and moved into the Burrow.  He would surely find something to do.

            "Darling…I told you before.  The wizarding world just isn't for me.  I need to sort things out with Daddy.  Julian still needs some…guidance…with life.  He's only nine.  Besides…if his big sister is going off to Hogwarts I'll have some extra explaining to do."  When a small tear rolled down Marcy's eye she brushed it away before gathering her daughter in her arms, "Marcy, Marcy, you're a big girl now.  You're going to go off to school and have an amazing year.  You're going to live with Ron and Hermione and Michael and have a fantastic time.  Daddy and I will come by all the time, I promise you.  When things are settled at home I'll work something out for all of us."

            "I love you Mum." Marcy gushed into her shoulder.

            "I love you too Marcy…I love you too."

            Harry Potter watched the exchange with heavy eyes as his wife unraveled herself from his arms.  He had told her only minutes before that he needed to go speak with Ginny and Draco, that he needed to say farewell and she had simply nodded, but the quiet exchange between mother and daughter had kept them planted firmly amongst the grass and dandelions.  Melinda sighed and allowed him to stand and pull her to her feet, gripping her in a tight hug.

            "For some reason every time you move away from me I have the distinct feeling your going to leave." She whimpered into his chest.

            "Hey look at me," He coaxed, bringing her eyes up to his, "I'm never leaving you." He kissed her soundly as Andrew reached his side.

            "Give it a rest you two…I'm only 13 you know."  Harry laughed as he released his wife and gave Andrew a hard shove, although he barely made contact as the boy quickly moved out of his reach.

            "One day you'll be a better Seeker than I am." Harry chuckled, moving down the hilltop.

            "I ALREADY AM!" Andrew shouted.  Harry merely shook his head as he continued down the hill on slightly shaky feet.  He never was good at walking down hills.  Ginny and Marcy had disappeared from the back of the Burrow, probably going inside to help Draco and Julian pack he reckoned, but it would still give him a bit of time to say goodbye.  He wasn't sure what him and Melinda were planning to do now that they no longer were required to live in the Burrow.  For some reason, he felt very odd even considering leaving.  Wasn't (minus Hogwarts of course) the Burrow always his real home?

            A shouting from over his shoulder stopped him and he turned around quickly, almost losing his balance.  Melinda was standing at the top of the hill with her hand over her mouth, almost shrieking, and Andrew was looking nearly as perplexed as she was.  However, he noticed the swing almost instantly, the _empty _swing, and the little girl running down the hill.  Her thumb was no longer in her mouth and she was screeching at him.

            "Don't leave Daddy don't leave!" She yelled as she reached his side and wrapped herself around his legs.

            He brought her into his arms quickly, coaxing her as soothingly as he could to stop her crying, her face dampening his shirt with her tears.  She soon stopped shaking, her voice quavering as she breathed one more, "Don't leave Daddy", into his chest.

            It probably wouldn't have been enough for anyone else.  A few simple words and a hug into old fabric would seem quite under played for a father who hadn't seen his child for nine years.  Hell, it probably would have meant nothing to most, just as most people wouldn't see the irony in the oldest Malfoy child living at the Burrow for her first year at Hogwarts.

            But to Harry Potter and the people he loved, the simplicity behind it all was enough as he tucked his daughter under his arm and joined with the remainder of his family before moving into the Burrow.

            Family was enough.

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AN: The Patriot gets all credit for the scene of Lillian running down the hill into Harry's arms.  It's a lot different in the movie but it's the same sort of idea and they deserve all the credit for it.

Other than that, this story is finished. There is a possibility (with enough reviews, I'm saying 20?) that I may do a snapshot epilogue into the lives of Marcy and Andrew at school. I don't know yet. Hopefully you all enjoyed it, YAY Ginny Draco!           


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